Originally Posted by Cimmerian (Post 526502)

http://i.imgur.com/vcnblDm.jpg

a [d] diction

The death of me: these words work incessantly
Like cooks in a kitchen mixing without a recipe
Phrases speed on pages, collision on the precipice
Crash of a diction, the prescription is the melody
Art is a catharsis or a needle to a vinyl vein—
Scratching the surface, bleeding as I write away
Drowned in the sound, surfing on a tidal wave
Sands through my hand, slipping with the light of day
Been drunk off the ink, the pen parries the sheets
Stabbing wounds in a womb to carry the seed
The birth of thought, blooming, I'm buried beneath—
The root of all evil, and now its married to me
All bark and not a bite from the family tree
Let's pretend we're all peachy, syrupy sweet
Knocking ourselves out for the feel of the beat
Popping pills/taking notes hoping nobody sleeps . . .

on me.

Originally Posted by sraL (Post 533561)

The whole over-the-counter culture we're determined to push and market
is reminiscent of how a vulture first circles above a carcass.
Once it's certain its supple targets ripe for the taking,
It turns and then plummets sharply to try and engage it.
Few survive to escape this method of business
as the vulture thrives on remains left by their victims.
Its predatory instinct has been meticulously honed
to descend on the witless before picking at the bones.
Initially it holds them in place as its denigrating
before crippling it's foe beneath the weight of its expectation.
The prey is then decimated, with it's worth spit from the beak,
and vulture retaining its reputation for being driven by greed.
Stripping the meat from the soulless skeleton that remains in its hold
until every bit has been eaten up by the generation below.
With patented old ideas regurgitated and fed to the young
as originality's re-labelled, re-sold, re-pressed and re-done...