Just writing shit. Passing time. Outlashing rhyme.
Is Concrete freedom? Completely completing me?
I feel like I’m depleting…
Too much time… so here I rhyme.
I got a good girl, good world. I’m in love.
Word therapy; it’s scaring me cause words release and reveal disparity.
The repressed stress that impales my chest… I’ll just…let the rest of my rhymes set sail.
Every day listening to the rain, it washes pain away.
I want to get up, but it looks like imma do it on a later day.
Now: Trynna bail… out….I fell off.. or fell out… I feel like I’m doing nothing when I’m
sitting here alone with my own”self.”…
I’m too used to street tops / we walked the block in reboks / more miles than Enoch /
up n down like seasaws
…then hop trains to the seashore. Drink more. I need more,
Fuck, I bleed for freedom like firey Vietnam napalm.
I’m going awal.
God Damn I seen it all… and it drove me up the walls….
No sentiment to what I representing in this moment.
Alone, Heckle myself. Jeckle?
Fuck it, Hyde… but wise with pretty eyes.
GoodnightNina. 