Tuesday, October 11, 2016

Write Inside

Dim light, it’s getting hard to see the pencil strokes - you-see.
I sit here late at night, reading posts, tell me to keep up the in-ten-sity.

Someone should tell the same to my candle, I tried to move to the other room, but not possible when your candle has a broken handle. Like riding a horse without a saddle, a Babylon without babble.  And judges without gavels.

I’m channeling my inner Poe, I’m black, but not a crow.

Stickin’ it to hip hop and poetry, this is what you get if Kriss Kross tried to flow with me.

Maybe I’m backwards, I write books in book stores - tried sliding my writing on a-shelf/ and said I published it myself/ xD

Cover’s battered, shirt on my back’s tattered.
The words in my head can beat me like an old sock/, where toes get caught/, but now around body parts that aren’t meant to wear socks/… Hands... you and your naughty thoughts/...


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