W3: theMuzzl3 (1-1) vs. Mr. J (1-1) -- Mr. J Flawless 4-0

[theMuzzl3]

Truth is the definition of my soul. My demeanor, the same as my nature, yah know.
Wishing at 11:11, for it to stay that way. I'll even take to my knees and pray.

From the start, as a new netcee: I started parting ways with my sanity.
My sense of morality: began spiraling down the drain.
All I could feel was pain… ignoring stains on the drain, from previous brains.
As the poking and pricking continued, I tried to let my words be spewed' out.
I was losing my sense of self dignity. Infinity from the dark space of the net was a cold-blooded shove,
followed by ruthlessness against ones I love. I began making counter-attacks, with simplicity and forwardness…
Losing my sense of self-identity, I was spilling shit out: towards a mess.
My demons began to grow, my flows showing the negativity inside my soul.
My initial energy was in the process of being washed down the toilet bowl. I still held onto hope:
that someone would reach down, and pull me out. Without a doubt, some netcee's hands went down into the throne;
and grabbed my own… and pulled me out of the spout of death; as a netcee… finally I could breath,
I pleaded for a new beginning, feeling diminished. But, my soul felt as if it was already tarnished,
like a bran new house being furnished with shitty furniture: crammed out of a punished, dirty ol' dumpster.

However, the main clump of my soul was still intact. In fact, it had been cleaned by the toilet cleaner, lysol.
But I smelled like chemicals, so I attracted more: chemicals; and I digested them in any way I could.
A story of the netcee which could have done it all… but instead of considering it all as I called it;
I was led down the toilet bowl again, then:

The circular motion continued, so I'm raised up, again. Now it begins with repentance.
I was a child, once more. full of innocence. Shit happens… craziness is witnessed.
I held onto my inner being; but am aware' of the monsters on the net, which represent despair.

You don't have to be scared of me, I exclaimed through my megaphone.
They did not listen. Instead, they turned off the microphone.
Coincidentally, there came upon a change. Old blues players let me rearrange the stage.
And, I played: without any signs of rage. The creativity splattered onto the page and pallet.
There was no longer a need for a ballot -- I'd already won. Mr. J's baseline solo was done.

I had chances to steal expensive gear… instead provided rides home and bought beer.
Accepted into a family, I was loyal. My eyes rolled back as they played with royalty.
As I approached the stage, I never thought of getting laid or paid. These guys were fucking good -- I understood:
Letting me collaborate meant I would be like a rock scraped against wood.

The scene died, after I left the local area of venues and musicians.
My love and my soul…. was divided into playing of music,
and being devoted to the most divine and beautiful chick.

Music left alone, now I write again;
Like I once did in bars & parties, with a pen.
Inspired by eeN'Cees -- it tied my brain waves to way back then.

Netcees reminded me in a way of the initial parting of the truth inside of me.
Next time I won't mind to pay darting lessons to prove the root of what you see.
And my identity, I retain.
I will no longer restrain:
words of truth, as blunt and harsh as they may sound.
I may be frowned upon and pounded on, but I have found:
Myself, rebounded and surrounded with those whom would have drown,
if it weren't for my arm to pull them out of the river, and onto the ground.