Vent
 

I've got the whole of existence in the scope of my vision. Every moment of history. How the motion and ripples roll through the distance of what's old and remembered. Our souls in a mixture of hopeless surrender. Attempting to own what's dismembered. Knowledge of self and all that follows has swelled, beyond our God's what we thought was our selves, it's always been cells. The magnitude of space caged in my attitude, dismayed. The masses views enslaved by pasts. My ruined day. Telling myself to use your place. Don't lose your way. I only get this life. That's it. Don't choose to face what's beyond your tools to change, but what about the future? Nay. What about now? You've got lives to raise. A child to spank. Teach about the things that kill you every night and day. Sometimes wanna run away. Like dad, when he'd fill his vain with drugs. Escape. Evade. Always a dragon to chase. It's amazing, the way the maze is sculptured. Use to see him nodding off on heroin. Made it my crusade, just staying sober. So I found a way to get lost in thought. A parent with a therapist. A novice, jotting narratives, or novels, often sparing his offspring of his parenting. Prided myself on being present. He needs my presence. That's I told myself, impressed it, but being around won't make you a dad, and more importantly, it won't raise what you had. It can't teach him how to behave, or to act. I'm supposed to show him how lace up his straps. Far beyond grades in a class. Yea, I taught him how to bathe. Gave him baths. Changed all his crap while his momma was gone and crazy. I snapped. Lost my way, now I'm trapped trying make it on back. Never be the same. Never see the same. Never have the weight off my back. Never be out the maze. Can't erase what has past. Lie to ourselves to hide from our hell. Numb to the moments. I just live with my life like it's something to cope with.

Cool

killed it bro. like the multiples and flow for real. thought the paragraph type format would ruin the flow of it, cuz i tend to imo but you did a good job.


few parts seem stretch for the rhyme but over a good verse.

I thought this was cool too. I'm still not a fan of the paragraph style. I feel as though you are represented better with line breaks. Your whiplash continuation multi style can continue, you know, on the other side. Then again it's preference.

-_-

boy or girl?

Parts of this were really cool and awesome.

Upping.

my favorite one was the haagen daasz and cottage cheese/doctor reid/blondie puhleaze one. or at least that scheme in particular. which one was that one. bump it for me wise. i want to read that one. thx.

I don't know if that one exists anymore.

Oh, it exists. lol

Provide to me for enjoyment.

Cristian has all my verses saved to his memory. We loves me.

nah, I think I'll keep it to myself. You're a jerk @PancakeBrah

Sound, mature, and nuanced response.

My request is denied. Now I will never get to see those sweet, sweet rhymes again. For shame.

Oh well.

I kinda wanna see it, too. And any other rhymes of mine that aren't on metaphive.wordpress.com.

How about I post some other classics that I'm sure you'll grow to love?

Well that seems like a pretty reasonable alternative

"Burn the bridges"




Deal w/it, surrender-the dream-it’s a joke,
Afghan topsoil flow-dirty keepin’ it dope,
Out the box, so you could never keep me in quotes,
I think I’ll hate you all forever for believing in Popes,
Fuckin’filthy, to be this dope is insane,
The flow SO wet? It feels like I’ve opened a vein,
I’m broken in ways, I could never hope ta’explain,
East coast, fly legacy, we wrote it in planes,
Ode to tha’pained, go hard, turn stone into grain,
This shit’s murder like buffalo that ghosted the plains,
Coldest of rains, how wet does it have ta’be?
Will we wait til it’s too late? We’ll have ta’see,
In apathy? I’ve found less gray for the eyes,
But cup’s ½ empty-throat’s distastefully dry,
Pray to the skies, we’re all born naked in cries,
Then adolescence hits, & kids make a disguise,
Paint it in sighs, exhale the weight that resides,
In a mind packed full’a no vacancy signs,
I was given a blessing & I keep fuckin’it up,
Trade the forest for the trees w/each Dutch that I gut,
I’m greedy, I NEVER say enough is enough,
I’m like B.I.G.’s death, ALWAYS be somethin’ta Puff,
Do work son, punch clocks brunches ta’lunch,
Chef HEAT, in this kitchen? ..there’s nothin’ta touch,
Burn the bridges, jump into the water or fry,
Would you do it if you knew that it could cause you to die?
Let the smoke rise, signal to the squaw w/the sky,
Written in big white clouds carved from a high,
I’m a loser, & so? I’ve spent some time w/a bong,
Vibin’on life. &-Writing-my, 9 minute songs,
Til tornadoes take’em all- &-all the sirens are on,
I’ll be on my grind. Hopin’that the Mayans were wrong,
I get along w/most people, but it’s less that I like,
Only 7 degrees-needed to embed us in ice,
Is it too tall an order to see depth from the heights?
Our deaths-&-our-lives resting on the edge of this knife.

What's that?

It's Recluse..

Here's another " WHY ROW? "

This defense mechanism shit. Pssht! Like I care?
Put it in the air. Get it lit. This is my flare.
Send the lifeboats. WHY row? This is my chair.
Do I give a fuck? Uh? DIDN’T I swear?
I’m ridiculous rare. The kill still on the bone.
Make a good teamate, but also ill on my own.
As the moon lifts. The mood shifts ta’chill & lie low.
You kill me. My blue lips speak the chill in my bones.
Aftermath w/no Dre. The impact when stones break.
Can’t expect to go back after that? There’s NO way.
& So say the know it alls. They: knew all along.
Try ta’do right but my type’s so fluent in wrong.
Written in venom. Too bomb. You in the denim.
Kaboom. You? ..step in the room & you dead’em.
The view from the dead end still the same as it ever was.
It’s a snapshot. It doesn’t change like the weather does.
I’m not gon’lie. This that wound you can’t coterize.
Somber eyes spy life in the Dirty as the Water rise.
The farther I slip I’m less equipped to author lines.
& Often I just sit silent watchin’my father die.
My heart’s resigned to the fact that I don’t know shit.
Who am I? I’m not even sure I’m the guy that wrote this.
No spliffs, no sips from the bottle will work.
So now it’s notes in the bottle just to bottle the hurt.
Set’em off in the current, let’em ride w/the surf.
May they reach someone on the other side of the earth.
Been fired. Been burnt. Been on both sides of the fence.
Put myself in your shoes so I’m more kind when you vent.
It doesn ‘t matter tho’. So I guess it’s like they say.
Even a broken clock, is right, twice a day.