[ Featuring Sketch Tha Cataclysm ]
As I write this I stand naked in my tension
In a 4X4 room made of walls of pressure
Fingers jittered tapping their rhythms on the air
With tears battering the fretboard until the Twelfth of Never
That song played its sorrows on my day on repeat
Directly on my chest for what felt like forever
I want out
I want air
I want
Whatever
That last coffee probably didn't help
Now i'm shaking uncontrollably and drowning in my self
Through this dank cage of harnesses and belts its
Hard to see my past 'fore this imparted in my health
I remember once being able to greet the challenges
With greed to beat the elements without the need of aliments
I still refuse to fold and sip the chalices
But now I carry these anxieties as false talisman
Fighting this paralysis biting in these callouses
From writing type analysis through rhyming as a catalyst
For peace if even for a moment in this battle its
A long road to joy from where I live its hard to fathom it
Self medicating with liquor cabinets
Raided
And feeling even worse tomorrow with my ravages
Its a catch 20 challenges my ballad's fists
Beat upon my lungs its the grips of all my talents pits
Now i'm stuck
F*ck
It keeps pulling back everytime i'm at the cusp
The lights are messing with me
This whole room is such
I keep moving daps a plenty and I tremble at the touch
These people keep talking
I wish I didn't feel them
This music's overwhelming I continue with my reeling
Breathing choking as their smoking hits my heels and
With contact that could have your tims pushing off the ceiling
Time to swim in this water bottle
In hopes to stop my mind from drifting sifting through its hallows
Piling on the misery to forget it all tomorrow
I need to wipe the maps of these directions that i've followed
F*ck the stresses its time to face it
And put the stones through this glass box attempt to break it
Clutch the amplified and vocalize my cages
Standing naked with these walls of pressure buried in the pavement
Till the blue bells forget to bloom
Till the clovers lost its perfume
Till the poets run out of rhyme
And thats a long long time
Till the blue bells forget to bloom
Till the clovers lost its perfume
Till the poets run out of rhyme
And thats a long long time
I'm probably gonna have this forever
The need to swallow anxiousand grapple with the pressure
This feeling at my ankles that keeps my feathers fettered
With that drive contradicting all the currents to my weathered spirit
This tempered healing forced upon my letters
Bars and syllables as tender miracles upon my efforts
This pulling on my chest thats wreaking havoc on my clever
This ever-present shortened breath residing in my center
So I will be this tenor that must carry through his tenure
All these passenger
Contenders pushing like a stentor
That is voicing his displeasure Speaking poignant in his censure
Pointed at the deserts ends anointed with the septor
I'll keep the fight against myself until I reach the nestor
Festering with sweat from scraping anxious from my splendor
Until the day that I could find escape or I surrender
Until i'm better until the twelth of
