by RiP

I canít
Donít know how
To control the things that immerse from my soul
When I unfold my hands to grab my pen
And tell the tales of the wins and losses
That occurs within me on a day to day basis

See Iím not blessed with the talent
To cover all the bases
That would allow me to lie to the faces of those 
Who read my prose
Look into my pleading eyes 
Free of disguise
And see the truth falling in my tears
Hitting the ground like the spears of fallen warrior dreams
So I cannot control the evolution of schemes
Only the thoughts that I deem essential
To the sequential process known as the days of my life

And if it is not my right but my fate
To take the chair of documenting sadness
Sitting next to the Arian 
Who thinks he was born to document hate
Or an Eskimo who flows on evolution
Then who am I to turn my back against 
Something that is sewn into every part of my being

There is no part of me that enjoys the dark days 
That my conscious is constantly seeing
But insomnia lusts for my mind
Illuminates the parts of me that are blind
And doesnít allow me to dream
All my orifices are blocked 
So my mind and isnít allowed to feed
And the only thing I know to survive
Is to cut my fingers and bleed over pages of insignificant lines
Hoping when they dry that peace of mind
Will hang from them like the vines that gave Adam the fruit 
To make a humble decision

Maybe giving me some standing with the powers that be
And free me from this prison of melancholic solitude
This dialect that is only spewed from my mind and body
Something godly sewn into my DNA
Something that allows you to look at me and say
ďThat is a mistake Iím not going to makeĒ
I forsake the tremor that lets you know an earthquake is feasible
I write to show mankind the depths of despair
Is a trip that is real and not unreasonable

So when you glance across my phrases
Take your time to turn the pages 
Of a sonnet that is graced by my name
Understand to you it may be a game
Some type of thinking against the grain
To show you can refrain from being stuck inside a box
And shock the world by writing something dynamic
When creativity shocks you out of the panic 
That boredom brings to your frequency

Know when you try to paint me
As an individual who lives to write
The thoughts of the heartbroken
The feelings of souls lost and gory

Understand that Iím just a storyteller
One who doesnít have the option of picking his stories
All I can do is live
And put my experience in the air too see
This isnít just poetry
This is my life 
Know when youíre judging my strifeÖ

Youíre judging me

And that the closet in the back your lives also has a key

Belee dat.

Mirror...Mirror by RiP

© Copyright 2006. The EuRiPedes Black/Mental Disaster Experience, all rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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