lyrical muscle 2

Through the rainy days, eyes of pain, tears drift away, away into the
canal, where no one can hear my cries, as I was born from my mother’s
naval, though I was conceived through childbirth, the world will never
know of my worth, cos to be worthy is to have gone the path of
unworthyness, then rise from the aches to be king in my own kingdom,
from the seven seas of eyes that have laid in to die, from the breaths
of the skies, to the pits of the rivers abyss, there lies, our deepest
desires, where no one can find, tormenting the ceiling of our cranium
only to find it mirror the faces of people in the insane asylum,
nasty, raspy, that’s how my thoughts taste to me, and to you, as I
kneel to your heel, kissing your ankle, oh flood me with grace that I
may replace every sin that I have made, to only be brought up from the
sick belly in which we feed ourselves with societies sickness, vomit
then swallow, does it taste hollow, then sleep like sleepy hollow,
dream about the million burrows, would you care to take some time,
peep into my mind, borrow some thoughts, from the sick and demised,
surrounded by a golden black woven enterprise, dance to the black
ballerina who tip toes on the verge of anorexia, or just stare at the
obese model who’s reflection reflects her infection, to each its own,
but I say, your mind, your precious mind must be grown, feed it seeds,
like I said, show then artificial sun, watch them grow artificial
leaves. peace