"contestants" poems
We enter the church and immediately
have to push through two dozen sobbing Italian women
dabbing dry eyes; their tissues only show
black and multi-colored smears. Amid the echoing
“Oh my Goawd”s, they lean down and kiss my sister’s cheeks,
but even in my best black cap sleeves, I am the taboo
to my cousin Janet, a woman as barren as the stone lot
in between her husband’s restaurant and Deihl’s Autoshop.
We find an empty pew, and watch as the men
stride down the aisle, contestants
in a cultural Miss America pageant where the wrong answer
gets you whacked. Their heavy brows
sink in condolence as they hand over stacks of bills,
every hundred becoming a pity penny
for all the moments Janet lost in her luxury-life
made shiny by diamonds and cars and fur coats
which can’t be cashed in for a second chance at a family.
The men have paid for the food, the china, the band
in the corner meant to fill the space of sadness—
a reminder that we live a lavish life.
My sister shifts in her seat and as a man walks
by she touches his jacket, and gasps.
He’s a god.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
Somewhere, there is a labyrinth, where people wander around and around, suffering,
Unwilling contestants of a cruel game, where the
Winner doesn't live to tell the tale—to claim the prize. It is
Wicked and unrelenting. The wardens of this
Prison are ruthless, indiscriminately casting their victims into the labyrinth,
Just to see what they're made of.
Around and around they go, trying to get out of
This endless ring of suffering,
Trying to regain control of their lives from this
Monstrous power. They search to find out where the end is,
Around and around, bewildered marionettes, hugging the
Walls, as cold as death. But they cannot find the exit to this labyrinth.
They cry out and curse this labyrinth
Of suffering. They don't want to know what they're made of.
They want to stop the agony and the suffering.
"Around and around is not the answer to this,"
They finally cry like hungry animals, "Straight and fast is."
And so they go, straight and fast, to break away from the
Horrors they're frantically attempting to escape. The
Frigid walls, stretching endlessly upward, collapse as they blast through the labyrinth
Like siege engines. Around and around their heads, like drunken birds, images of
Their lives whirl by. Desperate to put an end to their sweat and suffering,
These prisoners blindly race toward the light in the distance. But this
Solution does not completely end the suffering. That's not how the labyrinth is.
Look around you. What you see is
Filled with raging fists, starving mouths, and the
Cries of those drowning in their own suffering.
This world is a world of
Recurring pain, winding around and around like a labyrinth.
Look around you and answer me: What is this?
This
Is
The
Labyrinth
Of
Suffering.
We all are stuck suffering, flies in a web. We imagine ourselves escaping, hiding this
Bleak present under a fabricated future, but the labyrinth does not begin or end. It just is.
So around and around we go. Welcome to the labyrinth. Let's see what you're made of.
May 30, 2011
May 30, 2011 at 9:21 AM UTC
you see i am very very hungry, so much in fact
i burp very weirdly, yeah i feel so weird
i burp loud and i burp soft when i have a nice cream bun or a nice beef nachos
and i feel like a nice packet of chocolate biscuits
ya know to have with my coca cola
i was watching ellen degenerous and i felt like eating the pie that went in the contestants face
yeah i feel like a bag of popcorn as well as choctop at the movies
because my mouth is burping very weirdly
i don’t want to have this burping feeling
i feel like a strawberry milk and i am fighting myself saying, no, i don’t need it
the strawberry milk says yes, i do, but i don’t want a strawberry milk, it’ll just make me fat
i wanna lose weight but the burping is making me want food, i want a nice chocolate bar
and i want a bag of marshmallows, i want to have more energy
so i can be a cool person, that i am,
i know the burping really is bugging me
and i do want it to stop, STOP, making me feel this way, i want to an artist and a writer and not an eater
please leave me alone strawberry milk and leave me alone chocolate biscuits, i don’t want to eat you
i feel like a chocolate biscuit, but then i say, i will grow fat, ya know keep the fat on me
i don’t want to be fat, i want to lose weight, so leave me alone ya ****** strawberry milk and coke
i want to feel fit in my mind, so i can write and be creative
please leave me alone, junk food, i don’t want to eat you
but the junk food gets in my mind and makes me smell the nice chocolate
i know coke used to be a medicine, but i don’t wanna drink ya
i like to have a healthy lifestyle, and i want to lose this burping because
it’s the medication making me wanna eat, like donuts and vanilla slices and cream buns
and dewok chinese stir fry’s and chocolate biscuits and chocolate desserts and strawberry milk
and a large bottle of coca cola, as my medicine, I DON’T WANT THAT
i had a garden salad for lunch as well as a few glasses of water
i hate being fat, so that means at 2-30 pm, i will go for another walk, whether i feel like it or not
because i must get rid of all this food from my body, so i don’t get diabetes
so if you feel fat, because you eat too much food, push yourself into walking
and walk a regular pace, so you don’t feel sluggish
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 10:06 PM UTC
_While most beauty pageants are strictly for girls_,
there are a growing number that include boys as well;
[often, age divisions
for boys run through age 6
with very few going beyond that due to lack
of mutual participation in the rampant molestation];
Age divisions will often have names
such as Baby Miss, Petite Miss, Little Miss &c.
Age divisions broken down as follows: 0–11 months,
12–23 months, 1-3 years, 4–6 years, 7–9 years,
10–12 years, 13–15 years, and 16–18 years;
For boys, sometimes two age divisions
would be merged such as 0–3 years, 4–6 years, etc.
Depending on which type of pageant system
is entered, contestants will spend about two hours
or less in the actual competition. Typically,
pageants have a guideline of no more than one
and a half minutes on stage per child for beauty
or formal evening wear; talent usually limited
to two minutes or less;
with the exceptional allowance
of two and a half to three minutes;
In glitz pageants, it is expected that girls
have different routines for every segment
of competition composed of different
movements sometimes described as sassy walks
and pretty feet among other names. ****** expressions can include liberal amounts of duck face; often referred to
as "pro-am modeling". Big hair (including fake hair),
flawless makeup, spray tans, flippers [fake teeth],
and nail extensions are also expected of contestants;
Glitz pageants may best be described as anything goes;
groping, molestation, **** group molestation,
forced oral & ********* virginity checks are routine; any
hyperactive child & also the parent subject
to a thorough, prolonged cavity search;
In contrast, natural pageants have
fairly strict guidelines regarding clothing,
makeup, hair extensions, etc.
Programs such as _National American Miss_
forbid any makeup other than non-shiny lip gloss & mascara;
for girls on stage. This modeling style is referred to as Miss America style [Some pageants have a prescribed
set of movements while others
allow more latitude in how girls will use the stage or runway]
Miss Tanguita translated
_Miss Child Bikini,_
is held in Barbosa, Santader,
Colombia as part of the annual del Rio Suarez Festival
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 10:55 PM UTC
leave it to fate
to bring the two
they hadn't known
what to do
strangers at a concert
yet they couldn't collide
but still, fate was there
and all it took was time
x-factor as single contestants
made it hard for fate to work
soon the two met in the bathroom
the tall one had a smirk
an 'accident' occurred but it was no problem
oops and hi was all it took
simple words, really
but infatuated, their hearts shook
band mates of a popular group
they fought through
management made it harder
it wasn't a secret - everyone knew
as lovers, they knew how to love
yet every single day, it had to be hidden
there was nothing they could do
for it had been forbidden
fate couldn't finish her job
it was left to the two
they had to fight and fight
but that was how green met blue
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC
Black widow, waiting for a strike,
Crouching small, behind your mike.
You love to see contestants cringing,
This is a quiz; it’s not a lynching.
Face ******* up behind her glasses.
I’ve seen better bums on lasses.
Centre spot on stage she poses,
A jagged thorn on jet-black roses.
She’d like us to believe, I think.
She’d never be the weakest link.
Superior look upon her face,
Shame about the old boat race.
What’s this I see? You have a degree?
Still, you’ll never be as good as me.
Who chose that dress? Don’t like the shirt!
She loves to dig and throw the dirt.
Oh! And you belong to Mensa.
I’ve never met anyone who’s denser.
This is a quiz, I hope you know?
You’re the weakest link; you’ll have to go.
She earns more money than the Queen.
She’ll never be an old has been.
Was she born or just invented?
Let’s hope the moulds been lost or dented.
Where do you come from? No don’t know it.
Still you’re common and you show it.
I’m from Liverpool; I’m a Scouse,
You ought to see my big fine house.
It’s easy when you have the answers; see!
Too believe you are much cleverer than we.
But you’re not that clever, Ann we think.
Oh and one more thing, I Hate That Wink!
Dec 29, 2009
Dec 29, 2009 at 11:52 PM UTC
No woman Is worth what you put me through,
Girls talk about men and the bad **** he'd do,
But that's nothing compared,
To the emotional despair,
From terrorist attacks, from a woman's lair,
**** I'd wonder why I'd care,
Sayin' it isn't fair,
Ya disappointment's perpetual and you were never there,
Should have not got ****** now my heart need repair,
And through all the pain and agony you weren't even aware,
I tried to shrug my love,
Pretend I didn't give a ****
Hoping it didn't come back round like bad karma, ****** luck,
Hard truths,
Cold facts, It's all through,
What's the point of part one if there's never part two?
Heart's glued,
Still trying to put back broken pieces,
It's all you,
And I'm thinkin' over thesis,
Go back to observation,
Evidence of perpetration,
Hold you accountable for all ya allegations,
It all supports my theory,
If I'm superman your kryptonite when you're near me,
I fear thee,
Cryin' when you week and weary,
Sayin' "Jared, I need a friend so please hear me"
'Cause that's the nicotine I try not to let get near me,
Askin', "Are you listening?"
Through self imposed misery
Treatin' me like a figurine,
So I play you like a tennis team,
And make sure you get no love, back to my history!
Because you never deserved my presence,
Men try to win ya heart just a part of contestants,
Just to win a section,
Of your empty affection,
Compulsion, and expections,
Of giving that's one way in direction,
Taker Take her,
Come meet you maker,
The distance you created like the comet did the crater,
Don't ask me for no favors,
Cause i savor the flavor,
Of live with out you compared,
To a life with you despaired,
And everyday your name slips me,
Is like a little victory,
Because you name is to me,
A bad taste in my mouth, and amnesia is my listerine,
Forgetting things,
Now relationships are hard, because, of what you did to me,
Left me with scars, half dead like chivalry,
But it still lives through me,
If I ever see you again, I'll pretend, it didn't get to me,
Stop talking, and start listening,
Vapid actress,
When will you stop actin'?
You can fake love but you can't fake passion,
Vapid actress,
When will you stop actin'?
You can fake love but you can't fake passion.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 11:47 AM UTC
I taste card board
hard board tastes like wood
I should make paste out of pencils and paper and erase my epiglottis
or draw a rhinoceros inside my intestines
they're infested with contestants and riddled with parasites
I would dare to bite a pear
but I can't bear to see my body be healthy
spare me your condolences
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
Miss America 1977, the 50th Miss America pageant,
was held at the Boardwalk Hall in Atlantic City,
New Jersey on September 11, 1976 & aired on NBC Network:
Winner Dorothy Benham, Miss Minnesota,
became a singer,
on the Crystal Cathedral's
Hour of Power;
Among the other contestants in 1977
was Miss Florida,
TV actress Nancy Stafford,
&
actress Karen Kopins,
Miss Connecticut;
Another was Patsy Paugh, Miss West Virginia,
who later became the mother
& in 1996, suspected killer
of postmodernist icon Jon Benet Ramsey
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 10:15 PM UTC
protesting *****
down w/ this &
that; neo-Nazis
marching waving
weird geek flags
worshiping white
people from space;
Pride Marches
celebrating golden
underwear &
too much lipstick;
macho *****
******* yelling it
out; Slutwalking
through downtown
challenging **** &
mysogyny dressed
as ugly Barbies;
gender color trans
light a joint & sit
on the grass smoking
lovely, got my kpop,
got my g/bf; Toni,
Tony, Antoinette,
Anthony; neo-Nazis
rushing headlong
back into the dustbin
of history; prostitutes
pretend to be fembots;
acting like brainless
machines unless smart
as Jeopardy contestants;
****** cosplay fetish,
no cash, no crime; no
crime, no cops; no war
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE
Where every scene from every play
Ever written flows seamlessly into
Each other in no particular order
ALL THE WORLD'S A ****** MYSTERY
Where everyone’s a probable suspect
Including the investigating officers
Playwrights and audience
Yet we’re all sure we know whodunit
ALL THE WORLD'S A COMEDY OR STAND-UP ACT
Where everyone’s a dressed-down clown
Even the straight man and the cast and crew
And everyone plagiarizes the punch-lines
ALL THE WORLD'S A PASSION PLAY
Where everyone’s a martyr
Even the judge and executioners
And the messiah must be
A flavour of the week superstar
ALL THE WORLD'S A SOAP OPERA OR CRIME DRAMA
Where the cast doesn’t realise
They aren't wearing any clothing
Even though they are seasoned
And respected award winning actors
And the show is being marketed as pornographic
ALL THE WORLD'S AN OFFICIAL DOCUMENTARY
Where everyone’s the subject
Director producer and crew
As long as the camera is rolling
And it’s rolling 24/7 !
ALL THE WORLD'S A REALITY SHOW
Where everyone’s a drama queen
Including the director producer and crew
And the camera is always rolling
Even when there’s no film in it
And the props and stage are constantly being
put-up and torn down all around them
ALL THE WORLD'S A COMEDY/DRAMA
Where nothing’s really that funny
And the edginess is trite and melodramatic
Like a cast of mimes in a Shakespearean play
ALL THE WORLD'S A GAME SHOW
Where everyone is the host
Including the audience
And there are no contestants
Only models on a flashy stage.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 2:42 AM UTC
This is the time of your life!
To do your deed to the country you love
For the promise of a prosperous land
A brighter future for the nation
Our pledge for a credible leader
Guide the citizen with religion faith
Lead our life with nobility, integrity and honesty
In the present day, Future and the hereafter..
vote ! dont lose your voice
Dont you keep your grievances at heart
Let your voice be heard...
So do not lose your vote... VOTE!
To win or to lose
To die or to live
Winning or losing is part and parcel
Of a COMPETITION...
Contestants please play fair
Voters stay calm and cool..
Try not to spread evil and hatred among us..
Leading us all to chaos..
Also Try not to remain silent
when given the right to choose
Play democracy! Play fair!
Chaos may end up bad..
If we do not maturely contest
For who’s wrong and who’s right...
Chaos may end up a disaster, a massacre...
Explainable chaotic phenomena
If we do not curb our lust for greed..
Campaign maturely for Malaysia..
We despise chaos and fights
Votes are the voices of people
Let us all do our bit to Malaysia
Stop this Chaos!!
Silence the words of slanders and hates...
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 5:39 AM UTC
Beginning with the frost and snow,
anticipation extended its tedious reach again,
but it was not right to suffer as the season
swept around the sun. A member of the
fall, like a tender leaf felt inured, by thought,
a humble intellect to serve the usual course
in words and weather, the pride of a
recurring sort. Weary blades of grass
were striving, even so, to grow against
the warmth in the few weeks, and, as the
skirts were purchased in the stores,
investment ruled to favor amiable, cold
breezes. The house grew quiet as the fans
were stilled for a suspense until the
furnace roared. The issue was patterns in
layers from the top, and the claim to the
design belonged only to the way the ice
expanded as crystals of moisture, crazy,
having forgotten how to caress the blossoms
of the shrubs; thus, a pleasure had gone to
sleep, its circulation numbed by
inevitable force, and conditions hibernated
beneath the indelible clarity of the air. The
splendid gyrations of the course became
obstacles harder on tightened joints, while
contestants moved from the warm climate
to the chilling, northern forests. It remained
possible to survive, because there were other
members of the team such as split sticks of
wood and cradles for sprained elbows. It
could not be suitable to grow tired of such a
challenge. When the door was secured, the
roots could relax and spread out like the
tentacles of a squid, beside the glowing hearth,
to read a book or watch a show. Above, there
was nothing left alive between the earth and
the birds, scratched into the sky and dashed
along the lines of wire. Birds sagged and were
swaying while the gusts played with their bony
feet clutched around the cylinders made of
copper and coated with insulation. Warm
currents and feathers made a thatch for a roof
that favored the roots and left them insulated
while around them slumbering creatures had
been forgotten. No memory existed to claim
the cycle of the warm days when the humming
in space reflected the ripples in the shaded
pools. The endless days were the realm of
vacant threads of branches in the chilly trees.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 8:10 PM UTC
Some come to dance
Some come for romance
In this dark place filled with strange rhythms
They come as animals during the night
They wake as humans in the light
The game awaits the best contestants
Only the animal who catches its prey
Will be with a human the next day
The experience is pointless
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 2:59 AM UTC
I've been coming home,
feeling kinda lazy
Just art, just music
nothing really amazing
What I think is average
others think is blazing
I don't want to be stuck
in a fuse about what was written
I don't want to be stuck
making ******** discussion
I don't want to be the one to judge what is or what isn't
Stuck in this fiction
of making a living
Ethan hunt on the hunt
This passion is my mission
I'm so passive aggressive
I say **** my contestants
All the hate, I digest it
Check my inner intestines
They are coated with steel
What is the pursuit of happiness?
Is happiness even real?
False media & markets
items bought for apartments
***** clothes on my carpet
feeling down an exhausted
Emotions are quite toxic
All is a thought process
Rolling over in bed
I feel the dark on my eyes
Then feel the light on my head
Get up and do it again
This cycle just never ends
Penny pinching, and quarter quivering, dollar dribbling....
this Average life is for a simpleton
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 1:53 PM UTC
I feel sorry for the homeless man by the dumpster
He must get so cold during the winter
I feel sorry for the single mother with her two children
She must want the best for her kids but will never have the chance
I feel sorry for the starving child on the television
I wonder if he will understand why he has to be hungry
I feel sorry for the people who hurt others
Almost as badly as the people they mistreat
I feel sorry for those who live their lives only by God
Will they ever get the chance to live their own lives
I feel sorry for those chroniclers of the lives of celebrities
They would give their life to have that attention
I feel sorry for the narrow-minded bigot
Where will their place be when acceptance takes root
I feel sorry for the children pageant contestants
Mothers living through their child what they could never be
I feel sorry for those who judge others at first glance
Even though I do the same thing
I feel sorry for the suicidal
They can’t see what beauty is left in the world
I feel sorry for the unwanted old man
He never wanted to be a burden to his children
I feel sorry for the handicapped
Even if they don’t need our help
I feel sorry for the crying alcoholic
I hope they have good reasons
I feel sorry
But I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me
Aug 16, 2011
Aug 16, 2011 at 7:19 PM UTC
Joey and the gang invited me for some bowling after our shift.
I was just about to put on my teal shirt when suddenly
I heard two titans exchanging blows beyond a field made of cotton.
This was the most action I've seen in a while.
In a matter of seconds the land was engulfed with familiar shadows.
Audiences were enthralled, sweating, setting each other on fire.
The armies of heaven are coming soon, I shouldn't go to work
And besides, traffic will go from worse to worst at best. Looking like machines dry ******* each other.
Elves start tiptoeing on my roof when titan A landed a right hook on titan B
Caught a glimpse of my feline companion bolting towards the couch.
I started heating water and mixed it with my teabag afterwards.
I let this paper made of mom's warm hugs throw themselves around me.
I sat beside the window and watched the contestants race each other to the finish line.
I find peace in their chaos. I find comfort in their pain.
Watching the Earth get rejuvenated also heals my rusted body.
This is God's best creation for a weary traveller like me.
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 11:33 PM UTC
Hear the motions of the engines,
Speed South to North,
As well North to South,
Care not they, the sounds they make.
It is a confession.
They speed in the land of ****
It increases, then decreases,
As they travel past, the open window,
Winterless blast, a confession,
It feels close to spring.
Care not a bit that sounds, rude, to those who tomorrow,
Will wake up to snow, while the blizzard sounds here,
Are the rush of thoughtless trucks and cars,
Which are driven at speeds above the posted limit,
Even if they don't have to travel so far,
To get home in the drizzle, to their green grass.
Maybe snow would slow them down,
Or keep them off the road entirely,
No, no, not them, they are rude,
They have this attitude,
Drive like this, no matter what the weather,
They are better than the conditions, they drive in.
Another confession, they are in it to win, and no one
else knows there is a contest and contestants.
What a surPrize!
Hand him a sextant as he drives at night, after all he has to navigate,
Through Facebook and Likes and texts and bytes of downloads from
YouTube...would not want to be fashionably late in reply otherwise
Your social life, and status,
may die.
Trafficking bad habits,
Instead of "look out for the other guy or gal"
The phone and the life it holds,
can be dropped,
"worse than a dropped call",
is all the sirens wail as they go by,
Life in the balance, ghosts
White knuckling it with one hand,
While eyes are fixed, to a deathly white screen
And fingers dance solo in some sexless act,
The result is the same a distracted fact,
The mind is no longer in the car,
It has left the body already,
Waiting for it to die,
Watching from above and reaching to all
Who have fingers and a phone
Wanting to be ghosts and sticking to the life,
Which will make it happen.....by accident.
Drive defensively,
Leave your phone in the trunk.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC
~
*Dressed for purgatory
But early to the party
So many bodies in the house next door
A living dance upon dead minds
A grocery store sunset
Thru the windshield of an SUV
Gets you distorted colors in
Gasoline rainbows
From those precise lines
Of the turning lane
Love ends at a traffic light
We do this to ourselves
All in the pursuit of happiness
Church of questionable things
Descending like vultures
Where idols once stood
For individual suffering
A pageantry of jackals
Quiet like sirens
Picking at parts of bad contestants
Playing a game called 'poisoned trees'
Fallen soldiers in strange negotiations
With meantime brides
Riding on the train of irresponsibility
For no apparent reason
We do this to ourselves
All in the pursuit of happiness*
~
Feb 19, 2024
Feb 19, 2024 at 4:10 PM UTC
An expanded meaning,
referring variously to literal bodies and to
the vegetative nervous system which controls vital functions.
She has been made a constellation
and is destined to outlast the contestants.
The germs develop first in seven segments,
some people may actually fall from their beds.
When I was casting
in these works the term took on
suggestion of how one might view the work,
gestures but also the placement and movement.
It might have been a drag queen –
Some well-formed whole constructed from
something in you that is no longer functioning.
When you dream about an accidental death
of any person,
that person’s death symbolizes Macrophobia.
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 1:39 PM UTC
Swift winds run through the park, at dusk
Carried on legs of leaves
Temporary, as they blow from the path
Onto the verdant sheet of blades
Laid beside the pavement.
The contestants occasionally collide,
And tiny whirlwinds
Untether their foliage feet from the terrain
As they fall onto the track
Whistling merrily as they bounce upon the ground
And rebounce into their lane
To commence the runnings again.
No pace is kept
And each man is one moment a sprinter
And the next a marathon chaser
The disciplines remain inexorably tangled
In their fleeting eyes.
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 9:26 PM UTC
they always told me,
your family will be all you have left,
when your trust is in theft,
when you've fallen and waiting for the best
when your fading in the darkness
and everyone is up in the falseness
but I've come to a rare conclusion
in the end, we live alone,
and we'll die alone,
everything else is merely an illusion
lost in confusion
false fairy tales made up in your mind,
your pulse is racing, time is wasting
were being tested in a world that's infested
the contestants are waiting in line,
so divine, this life of mine
so prepare for the end of time.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
Check it!
Mind State Subliminal's
Never Ridicule the Individual
there Journey is of a different school
I find myself at the pinnacle
the point of which is so critical
It's a mind state That isn't physical
mental obstacles I often leap.
then find myself tied to Marry Poppins feet
I see the world and its obscurities are out of reach
I hide in pits of insecurities I guess I'm obsolete
Will I forever have cold feet? or will my motions cause friction, the conception of heat
My perception is keep, moving and keep trying, trying is just dying
an act of the weak.
Let's smash all beliefs and DO! then keep applying pressure to these modern hands
For my body is made of fuel and metallic cans.
How often does passion stand if where it lands is on a slant?
It doesn't, it slips and slides then collides with motions that stride
is this what keeps us alive? the ambulation of vibes, the infatuation to strive, dive and keep swimming
I'm satisfied by this life I keep living
My perception is interception I catch it all than digest it.
I consume all even though it may be septic
let theses words I eat pierce my inner intestines.
I left leftovers for my contestants,
I'm lethal like needles to a vain,
this game will leave you breathless.
I'll never do it for the fame or chains or a fancy neckless
Flow is too raw. cause havoc I'm too reckless.
You can catch me at the bottom pit, be spitting the hottest ****
I'm that hip hop-otimuous
That's no name anonymous.
Your frame is just picture-less
I hope you can picture this
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 1:41 PM UTC