Original content. no title.

I'm alone, I'm alone ina house full-a people on-a whim- Might blow- Take a fuckers face for the fake shit, slow- Talks- and I'm anxious, go-

Sounds nudging the thought, lights giving off- no camouflage- what you doing? Must've forgot, So aware but stupid for nonscene, hot- Bothered but since im here we oughta remodel the talk-

Alone in the end, Why cater to friends? Life giver or grim?

Deep in my whims. Blades at the end of my limbs, Cave in to not blend, Standout for them to aim up, Scream out but they care- none-

Common to dwindle, so why am I so striken with digging for hidden wisdom? Where's this itch from? Wish I was cool with bitch syndrome, but I ain't, Maybe it's from being so poor that we can't have paper plates, why I feel I need to get some.

All my life I see people fake finding peace, yet I want a piece of that fiction-

What I'd love to see. Is myself not after these. But it's dumb. I want to not need but realize we quick to rot once we find what we seek- Realized it young. Now theres inner fear 'bout being fulfilled in the street. Go hard but don burn up, you'll beef-

Where's the line- between blowing up and boiling down? It's in the speech- The narrative formed 'round yo rap shit, antics and your status on the beat-