Cyle a waste of the wasteful mind blinded in the troubles of the world.
Lesser known to the cause of what the world follows for he follows his heart.

By a compass of wisdom, reliving through the footprints of the wiser men before.
What is spoken in mind has nothing of the words to say, but it is still not limited by such for such is not law.

Cyle a waste of the doubtful heart living upon the negatives it positively takes in.
Why live upon it if it kills us inside.

But for the sake of pride we'll fail to admit of how far we've fallen,
For no man wishes to be seen as lost unless by unseeing eyes.

So speaking to inner man within me to ignore such and following of these lies.

Cycle a soul feeling soulless on the emptiness he's made full within him.
For in time itself he has become of the many wasted hours,
Surely where is the time for him to be living the time of his life.
Why lay on the chopping board of the world's standards, openly ready to be cut down by it's knife.

Cyle the three of such a man for him to be free.
For of such man nothing is lost in the wake for he can still find the desire to dream.

late at night is when the cycle begins.

waking up for a great dream, sweating begins.
sitting up, trying to deny whats happening always leads to a short run to the toilet.
after the adrenaline, my body can no longer take it.
which leads to bending down in a rush, flinging open the toilet.

puke. flush. puke. flush
repeat.

then after the self hatred slowly crawls in, the shaking begins.
the shaking gets worse, it's all such a blur.

and once that ends, i curl back into bed.
waiting for the cycle to start again.

Unraveling the threads
Of my tangled, sticky lies,
Tearing the delicate cloth
Of my fragile, broken life.
One by one,
The stiches pop out
Exposing the wounds
That they know nothing about.
A single salty tear
Trickles down my face
As a single crimson drop of blood
Is dripping from my wrist.
This cruel and viscious cyle
Will never have and end
As my sanity unravels,
Alone and with out friends.

SIxty suns to turn around the sky
sixty sleeps to cyle through
sixty nights that Ill ask why
sixty shapes I do not know
Sixty choices my heart choooses
Sixty ,sixty til and then to spend
sixty,sixty, sixty again
until sixes turns to eights
tipped sideways before its too late

What happened to my people who stood for each other
We shouldn't wanna **** or harm another
Back then we fought for our rights
Now since we've got freedom
We been fighting for our life
Looked at the news friday
Yet another brothers gone
Lord may his sole rest in piece
And friends and family stay strong
I hate to see the emotion of different family cries
If we stop all this killing
Then no one dies
Gang violence is something we should have forbid
Yet daily i see people teaching this mess to they kids
I understand alot of struggled in the hood
But that doesnt mean we cant overcome to something good
We should want better for ourselves
Yet we settle for the worse
All we ever see is bad
Like we're living in a curse
Im just saying how can our future be better
Over everything we done
But i ll never give up until
The battles finally won
R.I.P to cyle we all know your in better place
I know we all wish better things apon our race
And even if i didn't know you
Alot of people care
Shoot when im looking at this dealth
I see it really aint fair
Well thats black america
Land of the dumb
Land of the shame
And land of the people
Who die over a color sign and name

naked
nothing
walls
nothing
colored
fiery
cyle
fiery
cycle

All is round
The globe
The earth's orbit

It all repeats
Our history
The moon cyle

Yet it adds
Some reliability
It is predictable

Where is it?
The originality?
The free will?

If everything just
Cycles continuously
Where is change?

Is it possible?
Can change
Happen at all?

letting all the guns sing;
society and our bodies Already know the chorus
someone dying by the gun isn't just a tragedy, but just Another Story
dying in a blaze of fury,— Innocent deaths, going out without any glory

... circles, circles, and circles; it's just how the cyle goes

and there's no water under the bridge;
while we're all Drowning in those bullets
raining tears, and smoke
better grab your umbrellas, under Another day of Bullet Storms

... circles, circles, and circles when will the cycle
          end?