The Ism

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I plea in need for you to see…that we….can’t be.

I ran from you, ran until I swallowed my tongue like stale-vodka while digesting my words. Ran until my lungs bled battery acid and pumped tobacco ash to the moon. Ran until I treated my mind like scratch offs and scabs. Popped the balloon I called my heart and snorted my serotonin tears. Ran under the middle spaces of sanity. I ran from you. Until I made my footsteps drum music in the jungle and transformed my pain into sex. I ran punching the wind and drunk the puss sticky sweat inside my soul. I ran, ran, ran from you. But in the end, I realized it was my own shadow.

Freedom of truth, The freedom of expression The reverend lives in reverence, We’re ready for rebellion We’re heavy in oppression, Where is God when you need him? The trees keep bleeding, The roots keep peeling The more I stand in the face of the riots, No more I can’t stand to be complacent and quiet This war is a plan to erase us with violence No more, no more, no more.

And the evolutionary heritable cycle began once more. 

We had a renaissance of words in the womb of our tongues. The prince had principals printed on the pinnacle of his heart, barely seen or heard. Some people wait for the past while wishing on the future. Some step backwards until it seems forward. The broken heart reunites in sanity and loneliness. The goal is happiness which becomes the bone to the dog. Our words were born on the crevice of our lips. Choices burned into temptation puts a noose to my logic. I began to feel wanted; my ego once murdered felt the urge to feel. And now I see that the mind can be an adversary to what we think. Barely anything we touch is real. To ignore life is a skill, to ignore thoughts, would make one kill. 

I am the murderer, defender. The sender, the mender. Sputtering dementia. The killer, the filler. The winner, pretender. The end of all enders. The hiccups of liquor. My liver. Agendas of quitters.  The December, Novembers. Remember? Considered a sinner. Offenders and benders. The injured and fixture. The bitterest whistler. Drug kicker of scissors and mirrors. A swimmer and digger. My dreams burn slippers. The pillar of chillers. I glimmer in ember. Splitter of bridges. Clitoris licker along snickers and zippers. The picture, the listener. Depends on the kisser. Depiction of triggers,pistols. Living in Denver. Intricate fiddler. A member of getters. Beginner and spinner. Victor. A healer of wicked. I differ. These pens are my dinner. Bon appétit.

Kill the weak. Fuck the poor. Hate ourselves. Marry the bible. Suck the drugs. Burn the children. Love the dollar. Kiss the whores. Destroy knowledge. 

I plea in need for you to see…that we….can’t be.

Aaliyah | DMX