4 chapters
I don't know.
One moment I feel good.
Then I feel like shit.
I’m tired of saying over and over that I might loose my grip.
Because look, I have a broken nose and a busted lip.
I don’t even know if my mind is sick.
My plans seem to backfire.
This isn’t funny, it ain’t a satire.
Look at me, everything has gone down hill.
I don’t wan’t to resort to the last pill,
but I ain’t even chill anymore.
You haven’t had the last of me.
But my life has turned to blaspheme.
I haven’t had a good rhyme in a while, its sad that i had to go through four chapters of shitty life just to come up with one!
I guess its better than non.
This isn’t about the rhyme, this is about feeling lost,
And doing anything to feel apart of something at any cost.
I hate the feeling of being double crossed.
Over bossed.
And rock bottom.
I have a lot of feelings but just to get through the day, I have to lock em’ .
I’m afraid of what God has for me next.
I know I should feel blessed for being here and not completely hurt.
I know this is a test.
But I feel the exact opposite.
I wish I could be on top of it.
But I’m not...
God put me in the hospitable.
Because I don’t feel the last Syllable.
These words don’t feel from my heart.
They feel from my mind.
They don’t feel full.
Instead they feel dull and heartless.
I talk about how I’m going to destroy things and hurt people.
But that’s not me, I am not lethal.
I write for the art not entertainment.
And now I’ve been put into displacement.
I don’t like the derangement.
It’s uncomfortable.
it feels like I’m in a cage match.
You might as well call the cops on the dispatch.
This isn’t going to end anytime soon.
I have decided not to put this on a tune.
This is now poetry.
I’m fragile like an egg, call me poultry.
I have the rest of me.
You cant get the best me.
I made a recipe.
It’s called Destiny.
so don’t mess with me.
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