How can I ever get a hold of things I can't put a finger on?,
I've heard they can just push a button to destroy this world,

in this age of finger pointing,
things are just bound to get out of hand,
I can't count the atrocities on two hands...
that's a major problem...

who can I count on to tell me what's really going on?, you throw rocks and hide your hand yourself..
you're lying to yourself!,

the hand that rocks the cradle is who I allude to,
they rock you to sleep to keep you in a dream state and pacify you..

this election is playing a hand in that simultaneously single-handedly hands down,
throw up your hands Mr. Handyman!..
I caught you red handed..

I put matters in your hands...
but the bloods on your hands...

trying to live my life like its golden..
nobody has the midas touch..
you use your hands to create more problems..

Imma hand you a gun..
you'll do yourself a favor..
man must destroy himself to fix the issue..
pass the torch!

At the height of my career,
Bewildered by the height of my success,
Cornered into giving you the miracle grow,
Didn't I tell you I got the juice for your roots?,
Excellent for thirsty Tiny Tims
Fishing for the Public Eye
Giving them fishy love
Had I seen it coming
I'd catch all the loansharks
Justifying my greed to be noticed at least
Killer clown fish once again in the current
Looking like the many fish in the ocean
Manipulating when I smell blood
Nothing for me to lose I suppose
Openly polluting the tropics
Previously it was the place I called home
Qualified to still return to my anchor
Ready to get off the hook
Still I want some control
Truthfully I never explored the 7 seas
Utilizing other individual's gifts
Virtuoso every so-so, now I think no-no
Wishing to be more consistent
X's & O's goes to my new potential
Yet this school of fish needs a leader
Zen state I've come to master.

Words follow silence. Silence follows words. Words follow one another as numbers follows the other. Words can speak of silence, and silence gives us room to observe those words. Words can say a lot the less they're spoken; or sound vague, a lot of words said can be misunderstood; or sound vivid, both ways could be taken for granted. I admired you through silence and didn't want to be anywhere else. I cursed you out through my words and rushed you to get me to work. I told you that I love you for the first time since marrying you. I chose not to talk to you when you wanted me to and needed me to. Silence proves words mean nothing though words can make something out of nothing and allow communication to exist to help most understand why or how they mean nothing. I require detail when too little is said, but I get the main idea. Silence gave me space to find that the devil was in the details in those few words said when I read between the lines. I adore rappers that are the greatest storytellers, the words of other rappers gets lost in the mix, but both can have a problem with repeating themselves. I either know nothing about them or back at square one and a lot is to be desired. At the end of the day it's stupid to question silence, I already know what it is except I hate to accept it sometimes. Words can't explain it though they can speak of it, the only thing I'm left with is the space between my thoughts about it and the space that I'm left with when all is said and done. It's Silence, I was aware of it when I was silent but I used words to help it sound more interesting. I love them both in this collection of words that may be lost or understood, I call it the lost tapes, found at your leisure, enter or exit at your leisure, think it's the **** or not the ****, think I talk a lot of ****, or ain't saying **** at all. Everybody's **** stinks and this has me written all over it.

Daily
Increase
Steady
Solace
Involving
Practice
Allaying
The
Ego

It's singing, traces of demons clinging on dreaming, ***** politicians solicit a composition, my intuition wishing to listen but turned to fishing, caught up in the rapture, it seemed to capture disaster, the ******* in the pastor is naked showing his privates, all I hear is silence, but public is screaming **** it, they ducked it, but they **** it to truck for some luck in buckling, they just proved they're fools to the rules, trusting the chuckling, comers sum in numbers of thousands, dousing your mouth, runners disappeared, no summer, we all went south, tingling from the feeling of stealing, look what it's bringing, screaming voices, noises was jingling, but were we singing?

Live bells spell chimes, rhymes that mind time had shined, five lives out of nine deprived from crime, blind just from kind signs, find your whines spine, and twine on the line that the vine had signed, commentary varies, scarcely staring me in my eye, self contradictions kept them switching, never visioning why, the term advantage has percentages, it's said in its leverages, invest in my profession for perfection that's cleverest, sever this, credit that they edit in America, all across the world, whatever, etc., hard to fix it, hope you're not TOO smart to quit, cause your little sense of bliss is narcissistic when you stick, the simplistic, optimistic way we mimic soon will lack WHY, times that's just defined as "That was mine" enshrines that facts die, not in reality but in the humans grim capacity, so attacking me, attacks, whose involved in all this mastery.

Sometimes it feels as if you're forced to run through quicksand, it's deeply quickly tiring, quicker than it takes sand to fall out of your hands, unpleasant enough to have you second guess going to the beach allowing sand to run between your toes, it's resistance in it's most blatant form, more obvious than a smack to the face, more abrasive than the sandpaper like tough skin I drowned in tattoos that signaled tolerance and triumph over the toughest people I ever knew, but I slept on the Sandman and now I must somewhat not panic to this unfamiliar face in the face of this probably being my worst nightmare; them tattoos ain't **** for him to dispose of; I might be rich as the soil, able to house and produce much fruit from my works and be able to maintain it, but the sand wants a piece of it too and will devour it whole and be poor again fore the sand even reaches the bottom of this hourglass; time will tell how I respond.

Humble beginnings gave me sloppy seconds initially until I fought for mine. Put my life on the line to put food on the table for you. The **** end of the stick had us wishing for the silver spoon but it was tougher to squash the beef with it cause when I had enough to keep me comfortable in the past, I was more greedy but ended up broke as dirt and couldn't even afford plastic forks and knives. What's a father to do when he can't enjoy his meal? I had to make forks from clay and learn pottery, at least now I'm very good at working with my hands so still I ask for no handouts. Hand me that W.

The hatred in this world that's tainted, trace my lonely face, I'd replace if this race would only prove that it's a waste, can't escape but reshape this scapegoat to taste hope, prejudice is the late scope from rapes rope, one that waits may date odds, create gods, so dislodged, my appetite is clogged, but accept a plate of cod to dive inside the LIVE seas, the respect arrives, strives for DYING breeds, the solution was convoluted cause it's polluted, I wasn't suited to sue it so I would only mute it.

Cool with an empty grind, the fool has a tempting mind, tools will uncover rules but jewels will prove they shine, behind, I just rewind to times I guessed my ways, showing I know my rage will page this stress in age, made an escapade where my fade grows in, not saved because the blades' never laid on my sin, within this hidden skin, the follicles are abominable, chronicles of my common emotions in my abdominal divisions, I make decisions when my stomach hurts, the spurt of the vomits flirts lets me know it's worse than Earth, the birth of a son with a gun, first turning it to the world, now hurls that he's the one that hums, the lullaby, gullible, was dull and high, never goes to sleep though, he knows something I, wrote while bitter, and now this little critter made me consider, my life was litter thrown in the *******.

Moving up while down. The fact I left looks right. I stopped to go slow, fast to locate trafficking at all costs. Back and forth it comes and goes, highs became lows as my self image of life in heaven was ego death within hell, I switch sides to play it safe, I'm on nobody's side, we go our seperate ways, and our differences unites us.

When you came full circle and showed yourself all the way around, I knew you was a square, trapped in a corner, no boundaries, not even rough around the edges. You're formless, quite predictable, you shaped an image I wish to waste no time defining, struck my curiosity to get you off this block cause you block the pyramid I know constructs this emotionally flat community. A flat-earther?, no, although you make your daily round trying to make a point of uncertainty in this type of atmosphere where we're certain that there's symmetry in this sphere of influence, so you have the freedom to spew all of this obtuse unrest but now I'm filled with this acute asymmetrical unease; might be, chemically imbalanced though you say you, advocate for balance, my realm of understanding is now the base of feeling misunderstood by somebody that feels they're on the cutting edge of things, and I can't shape it!

This is written at a moment where I actually don't feel like writing anything at all but journaling your emotional state at the moment is a great way of channeling it and I'd be a fool to turn away towards physicality I know I would later feel guilty about and come to regret. I mean no harm in my words, no harm to the platform in which I am writing, but I will not allow writers block to occur because there's **** I gotta get off my chest and if I keep it there it could beat the **** out of me and **** me slowly. I find my breath slows down, I'm put back at ease from the passion and anger my lower chakra has showcased. My crown chakra has morphed it into words, a prince well on his way to being a king in his temple. GOD is in me, but GOD built this temple and I have no right to refuse that to be the case being that when my judgement was cloudy I judged this all to be my works but worked near to insanity and never had a break. No pride I want in this excerpt but it adds to my credibility to be honest, I may have not told what really caused my anger but I knew how I was feeling. I caught it when it came, may all be at peace. At this rate, water becomes wine of the blood of CHRIST, and blood is thicker than water, I represent the family, I fight for the family as HE died for the family. All is good. All is good. All is good.