To Those I Have Lost

I have observed worse, obscured curse, devilish hell in the third verse, happen to expand my urban rhymes by ten times to include mother nature's cosmic chimes of squawking birds, flying by walking herds of talking heads lingering by the reaper's hurse, as they converse with a concubine, bodies ravelled, between sheets and entwine, screaming shouting, words so terse they tear through the fabric of time, printed ribbon of motion picture crime, captured by lense in 8mm, careful not to bruise but to beat her. But i've blurred lines to turn times turns elastic, bent shredded and burned plastic, automatic, words, head flashing to static, tv screens bombastic snowy visage, blissed out miscrient image of an edited scene, replayed in sepia tone, shrugged up in back don't you see me, hang up the phone, you won't drop knowledge from a ringing tone, nor gain your patience from the wireless zone, give a dog a bone, walk him in the park let him sit upon a throne, atone, for all the sins you've transgressed, living this life unimpressed, crush a leaf between your palm, sing a simple song, compose your holy psalm, obsessed with what's next, while I am quiet in solitude your heads a total mess. Best is the way you should lead, go check out books you should read, the prisoner's in your mind, locked behind, imbibing the kind, they could be freed.

I have observed worse, had hangover's to nurse, burst into laughter at the drop of a pin, forged forth towards a new life with my fellow kin, achin from the back to the front, been so high I was blunt, wrapped in my own mess, careful to step out of the press, dodging the questions they asked, wearing ten different masks. Why didn't I stop, flop on my back, tactically analyze my attack, back to the drawing board, tight twist turn of the cap, zipped up and buttoned the flap, corner pocket called eight ball dropped it, took another lap.

Board flipped click on the asphalt heat, sweat filled bodies secrete, sweat was never as sweet as the times when blood lingered to, careful not to subdue my body to the swine flu, mental gardens I grew. How I turn rhyme, in fine time and garner applause for the brothers I've lost, melodies swept through the halls, and I've observed worse, big oc curse, plagued the weak willed and won, contracted hep c then run, so you thought this was fun, when we let loose at night, only lighters ignite, not addictions you'll fight. Later, when it's dark, and you cannot evade, the sweat now trembles muscles like a death march parade, that I might sit by your grave, and recite good times we had, lost a brother, gained another, six feet closer to god, and why the f%ck'd you decide, that junk over our brethren kind.

I'll ask the question await the answer, it wasn't cancer, but then again it might've been, as you study that wiley grin, legs shake, half awake, nod til you burn up your room, quick quake, cavitate, try to speak and turn to stone, once again, fated fates, your alone, devil's all that's left on your shoulder, I got it, ashes to smoulder, won't get older, I turned the cold shoulder, divulge her sins, in your eyes, jaundiced with lies, as I decide, whether to stay or to go, knowing I may not know, this monster in Echo Gear, won't shed a single tear, tear down walls to appear at your side. your eyes now covered with flies, swatting away the ties that we sewed right, fabric laced so tight, we once flew that kite, key laced so lighting would ignite, incite a riot to peace, and rise the fallen to their feet, retreat hatred in a battle game, a starring match of the eternal flame, and when we pass the blame game to the kiddie pool and let it drown in a puddle of drool, all knows the rule, contaminated cosmic fool. Why Matt, Why?

I couldn't have written a script taking stock or a sip of this life we engorge, careful not to abhor those paths that we cross, nail Him to the glossy golden crucifix, that the churches afix to the wall of their home, god would be shamed of the dome, gold plated cold slated, obsenities flair as their paper's graded, sermon's they spoke and ill fated in their jaded misappropriated forecasted interpretation of the emancipated dead riser, wine imbiber who was consicrated by emaculate conception, for the betterment of all.


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