THE OPEN MIC CYPHER

[Bodey]

losing sense of the craft, i'm hurtin daily
used to help me get past that worthless failing
type of feeling. immersed in bourbon's craving
i'm hyped for peeling versions off my undeserving raging
fuck the rhyme book. i suck at it anyway
when i actually give a fuck, i could nunchuck you anyday
whoops, there i go again. no escape from that, not a single friend
in my life could've flaked this bad. but here we are
i'm that same girl chasing cabs after i clear the bar
warm salty tears moisten up these dreary scars
and for a moment, i can breathe again. i can hear my heart