I lack all inspiration
My flow comes out with no emotion
Rolling in the bottomless pit called my imagination
Scraping at the bottom of a pool its desperation
I thought I had my flow back
With years of drug use in the streets hustling and looking for crack
I think this shits wack I might just quit the expiration point is long past due
The color of my eyes is the hue of insanity
Rolling in a cave this is anxiety
Masturbating furiously
Bashing my head in repeatedly
Plunging the knife in violently
I just want it to end
No time to mend my broken so called soul
And send myself to alleged hell
FIn-
YOU ARE READING
Poetic Deprivations of Mass Accumulation
PoetryA series of short funny and serious rhythms But be warned My poems are not for the weak of heart They will tear down the very fabrics of time. Or so I say I shall post every other day.
