I’m not hungry
I just can’t find my groove
But nothing’ll please me
I’m a hopelessly miserable dude
Empty inside and kind of stuck in a rut I can’t cut aside and I’m losing my mind trying to hide the fact that I’m dying
But that’s alright
The clock tocks by
Maybe no one will notice I’m here wasting my time

Woke up in a cloud to not fall out of the sky
Instead of facing another morning depressed I didn’t die in bed
I confess to feeling trapped inside my head and chest
An internal disconnect
The prison ribcage
Cranium solitary...

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Wobbly Politics

...day or night. There’s not a fight, there’s no resistance, and every one eats out of his palm. It’s pathetic and we regret it but we won’t let it show, we’re insistent is doesn’t exist and believe no one knows he deceives us so we go on in denial.

But the madness is ensuing and the things he’s been doing have been pulling sides tight right under his nose and as the story goes that the little people rise despite their small size ‘cause numbers stack quite high and they want him to go so as their numbers grow towers will wobble topple right on top his bank hills killing his inbred bills before we find out he set sail long ago

Before the nukes drop, he’s not beat, that’s too hot, this dude left a bot in his seat, it’s got a huge cock as you see. He’s under the impression this robotic erection is the same as staring at a reflection. Not to mention the round butt cheeks and lipstick under...

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Dead Black Boy

Dead Black Boy

It’s difficult to know what to do in these kinds of situations.

Stainless is the steel tip of the berretta pistol I’m holding to the back of his head. Stained conscience stops me from pulling the trigger, but I find myself stuck here.

“Gang activity” is what they’ll label his murder. Another dead black boy lost within the numbers. A meaningless statistic. They won’t even remember his name and all I have to do pull the trigger. But I can’t seem to do it. Can’t seem to kill this nigger...

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To Everyone

...else in their heads
But it wasn’t fair, I was just a little kid
I hid whatever happened inside
Refusing to cry ‘cause someone might walk by and give me “a real reason to cry”
And then I’d be back to wanting to die

Became curious adult not giving a fuck what the stick up anyone’s butt feels like on its way out
Because whether they scream or shout like ripping a bandage it’ll no longer be there, exposed will be the damage
And it’s not fair, but I learned to not care over the years being right here talking to you with your attention over there
So fuck you, life is what’s not fair
Shit happens...



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American Youth

Confused with what to do when they refuse to stand up for truth
Corrupted weak youth aloof from what’s true
They don’t need proof when the media says who’s who
Consumed by their call to righteousness they’ll doom us all with their inactive shit

This offends you?
Well, who the fuck are you?
I decide what I find true the same way you do!
Can’t handle it?
Hand it over if you can’t stand it!
You stand for shit anyway.

You spit crap when your whack mouth flaps in an attempt to reenact the thoughts you thought you had but you didn’t consider that none of that was actual fact because you didn’t have proof and that’s the fact.

Time is wasted when your mouth is open because your words came broken
Thoughts stolen through propaganda for controlling
Stay home with your phone filling up your dumb dome and continue to not know
Eat what your fed by the same people who want you dead

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When A Bleak God Calls

Even the fire is metallic in this unstimulating hell. Cooked rotten meat licked and scorched by the sunrise flame.

The air tastes of burnt plastic and copper from the wires I crossed to start the fire. I’ve been too lost to admire the lovely structure inspired by scientific miracle and horrid nightmares.

I’ve begun to question the purpose of the wall. It stands tall harassing me up into forever. It must be god. The wall is god and I am no more than its subject. Absurd, but it’s the best guess I have for where I am. Either I’m at the end or at the beginning of the world.

The meat still tastes rotten. I’d nearly forgotten when I got lost staring at the wall, but there’s the thought again and with it came the taste. It doesn’t go away. And If I was okay with dying today, which I wish was the case, I’d go away. But I’m scared and fascinated. It’s not fair that I can’t help but procrastinate on my death just to see what fate awaits.

Two days or three weeks have gone by and this road is bleak and I don’t checkout of the ride.

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America Was Never Great

...intention and apprehension when ascension is in play
Riddles question the path plaguing the rest of the way
Leaving illusions behind on display

And the whole roll is cold and old and no amount of flow can truly show what’s needed to be known to let go and move on with no holdbacks. We have to want to know what we already know but refuse acknowledge because of fear it’ll haunt us for eternity and rot us black, we don’t want that, we don’t like that

It’s maddening sad, “I don’t want to be known as bad”
So we hide our head between...


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Numeric Prison

Caught trapped in a cloud
Suffocating unable to get out
Not trying
Just want to not feel
Because I never feel like myself

And I’m always let down
So I lie to myself

I’m always screaming
And I’m the only one who can hear it
The walls of my mind are riddled in claw marks from me trying to get out of the dark
I don’t even know who’s outside claiming he’s me
I’m more worried about what’s going on inside
And it’s flooding in here
And I’m drowning in here

No one outside has a single idea
The air started to disappear
It’s alone in here

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All of Which is The American Dream

...to suppress all this bullshit talk of racism and our honest hard working cops can finally get those dangerous niggers out of our streets. They’ll be able to protect our families the right way without some liberal pussy aiming a camera incriminating the human instead of the monkey. THAT is key.

Second, fuck all this bullshit about rape. Rape this, rape that. They’re just a bunch of whiny women who can’t seem to get their shit together and want to pretend they don’t like it because all the bitches around them pretend they don’t. But they know they want it, it’s human. They’re human. Now they won’t be able to go online and exaggerate a case that is nowhere near as severe at they’d like it to be.

Third, media has taken a strange turn in the last couple of years. Once actors and radio were the gods. The companies, the fame and the money. Now it’s all this half media crap. “Alternative media” or whatever they think it is. It’s a delusional dream they’re living. They’ve even stolen music from us and put them on their dumb streaming services destroying the radio companies in the process. This country needs to pick up again...

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Time Traveling Writer

He’s watching the keyboard with a truly profound visceral confusion consuming his right eyebrow twisted lower than the left. Frozen in time is all of him but his hands as they type away seemingly gibberish text. They’re communicating a message to the future. Telepathic text traversing time to relay the past. The busy hands write to this reader from a foreign land.

They tell of a writer struggling to find what to write. They beg for information from the future. “If you have the ability to time travel send back what we should be writing right now so we can write it.”

A tear in the space-time continuum blinds the writer and it fade to nothing leaving behind a singular sheet of paper which says “If you have the ability to time travel send back what we should be writing right now so we can write it.”

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Little Asskicker

...of some wannabe thugs
Childhood lack of hugs led them to rise above hard working lives and join the drugs
They decided to get tough
We decided to fuck them up
And now we gonna get jump
But my little bro’s a black belt with anger problems who just got dumped and felt some type of way about it
I tell them they don’t want the sauce
This spaghetti is too much
They’re not ready
They go hard like raw noodles
Snap the crew in too, though
A spinning back kick stirs the dish
They moan and bitch
The cheesy smile on my face as my bro makes his rounds
The sound of their cries...

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