Trapped, Lord

Lord, I know oftentimes throughout my strife I have been less of a human and more like wildlife and I know so many times I’ve screamed and I’ve cried begging you to help me just one more last time…always admitting I crossed the damn line and always promising I’ll do no more crime if you’ll please reach me your hand and help me to climb out of this hole and wash off the grime and you never have failed with your harsh, sweet sublime to do what I asked when I had neither dollar nor dime…but GUESS WHAT, YAH? I’M BACK IN THE LINE.
I sit yet again, in a slovenly pen which is now and has always been the manifestation of my mind.

I do declare it’s a mess in there and I just do not know where I put that spare. It’s lost amongst the animal hair and dirty underwear and a few shares of stale food that I never ate because I swear, I’m never hungry and I got no clean plate.

Listen, please God, I need you real bad cause the knot in my stomach which is made out of sad is metastasizing fast like a Kardashian fad and if it keeps up it’s spreading I just might really go mad.

I have begun to notice that each time I ask the time I must wait is longer than last. I’m not sure why that is, but I need your help fast. I am quite certain, cause I’ve heard in the past that the harder life gets and the more overcast and the more I’m harassed and more put on blast, the more steadfast my heart stands on the wall it’s tiredly amassed.

I do not believe that’s the lesson I need to acquire the manna my soul needs to feed. I was put here to hurt and put here to bleed. Pain is the best teacher I need to help find that one seed of mustard it takes to succeed…and success in this life is not guaranteed and when it comes to evolving I would rather concede to wholly agree: humility and love are the Divine Decree.

You ever?

You ever feel so paranoid you just want to die? There is no question, you definitely know why and no you’re not crazy you know the blue sky but below is so hectic that you just want to fly up into the clouds; up into the sun…compared to this life, burning seems like fun. You have no family and you got no friends and it seems you’re on a time-loop that ends and starts again, and all you fing want is for your real life to begin but you slowly realize that it already has and this is it and then you wondered what list you signed up for this shit…You think you will make it cause you know you got it in you, but the rain won’t stop pouring and there’s no one to defend you when you’re sopping ass wet from despair and regret and you just wanna forget all the people that you met that held out a carrot when you were stinking like a ferret knowing there’s no merit and you never did prepare for it cause you thought it would be over when you stopped doing drugs but now you realize your addiction was always to bugs and leeches that will suck your blood till your fucking drained and now middle-aged and slightly fucking maimed from the torment in the brain, people calling you insane but you know you’re fucking not you just refuse to play their games.


Dissociation is a type of mind vacation when things are getting heavy and you got no preparation and the feeling of deflation is the usual provocation to put you in a station in another fucking nation things look like animation and you ponder your creation but you’re feeling no elation most times when you are facing the anti-jubilation of your own emancipation from the world in which you’re pacing in shoes which have no lacing and you know you’re losing races that you prolly should’ve won but someone shot the gun too quick looking like a dick cause they caught you fucking wasted but just because you’re pasted on this piece of paper and you feel like you’re a vapor after smoking with your neighbor and the labor is a sabre (tooth tiger) with a bite that’s full of Jager and you know you’re nothing major so you never try to wager too much on yourself cause you just keep your talents mostly to yourself all upon your shelf just like the Christmas elf who comes to steal your wealth when you are shaking and got nothing left and just wanna kill yourself.

But you don’t, because that was never the real Plan.


I hate when the rhymes comes crash out my brain while I’m laying in bed with no mind to retain the surplus of manna shed from above.

I know it’s been sent with the truest of love.
Sometimes I write it and sometimes I won’t sometimes I should but I really just don’t have energy in me to look for a pen that puts the train on it’s tranks it’s got to start all again and usually I never have faith that it will so I keep lying down and I keep laying still.

Im’ fighting sleep hard like that fight with mcgregor and mayfield beating the shit out of each one another one black and one white and mayfield won the fight and now there’s all kinds of memes all up in my sight. They sayin a thing but meaning another and I really don’t get why we can’t just love one another…all this fight been deftly conceived by some real douchebag shits who are sucking our breathe…like dreams that few understand and eryone there standing in line like they got a jack and a queen to to put on parade when we’re burying our kids I wonder…if we’ll get we’ve been played.