I live for the pen and the paper made stem, vineyard crawling up the walls of this mental picture,
I write
like a paper made crane origami sprouting wings from the envelope that has found me,
niño in a state of fright from flowing lyrics that encase me, face me, wait for thee,

words tumbling from the tree, wouldn’t know it was me, a strict class taker, no D,
for demons that surround me, stealing words from my teeth carved,
war bound mouth too overgrown to harvest where my lost thoughts is,

I’m a writer for the closed throat, chokehold, death stroke, noise from a classroom on its last note,
singing out asthma through a cottonmouth, words hold no doubt,

if you find confidence in my sleeves, you’ll know I hid it there just to keep my hands free

Still a baby, cause lately the adult in me left me, fed some wisdom then deserted like his last son,
son of chance, son of inspiration just to stab him with his nightly crooked laugh,

the laughter, the banter, the stomping feet and the writing there after, I’m a shadow caster to the stage,
a rhyming ape for the masses, write to keep transparent dreams fastened.

2nd Verse:
And last life
I strived wear my headphones tight,

cause nothing beats the mic
but sound waves flow the iris sight,
everything from the spark to the flame burn bright

don’t matter what a rhythm boasts, I just sit back and write free, shoot sky high and keep the clouds blocking demise, cuz I see stars in front of paperback eyes.
I’m sure its likewise.

Make your script a reality, find poetic god flight, strive to paint his picture right, fight battles for degrees, break the print killing trees, sell a book to the kids, give your mom a belief, let your father give relief.

Your future’s in your hands kid, never let the past generations contain where your plans is…Live Free or deathly to the grave you leave, find me cause word play is breathe free.