Distorted poet, speak prose

Broke stride as last of men realized their deep deceit. / This troubling advance of half-assed crews crowd these streets. / Never mind of who I am, son, just listen when I speak / Broken paragraphs hold wrath of a hundred million deep. / Bleak circumstance led masses to only want to dance / A bastard child of Reaganomics posed in a B-Boy stance / Make our leaders play minstrel, Left with none to lead our people. / How the fuck am I gonna shake your hand, when we never been seen as equals? / Deemed evil by those housed in church steeples. / False prophets read backwards from broken tablets to the feeble, / I seen you! / Regurgitate their lies. / I’ll bide my time with scrolls and ancient’s wine. / Heady brew left mark on this hazy scribe. / If stars align I suppose even the blind will see, / How they stole our last voice, corrupted culture into industry. / Few minutes remain, a tame soul wanders wild when it dreams. / Mine are filled with ill visions of soot and dope fiends. / These slit wrists won’t rest till I spill these last drops. /Tarnished skin only sin when I awoke on sidewalk. / Seen your movements through peripheral / Remain same individual. / When a man’s viewed as criminal to act animal is logical. / Audible tones honed to hold substance / Form sentence / Poor reluctant poet, speak prose / Refuse to beg repentance / Reluctant poet speak prose / Incite our peoples / We got raked through those coals / Once the truth was divulged. / Conscience calls thoughts subliminal / Actions all cyclical / Deplorable descendants of men depressed clinical. / Answers seem visible when visionless / Useless souls fold under pressure like hands pray to false Jesus. / Inadequate adversaries advance awkwardly. / Anger expressed outwardly / Causes ranks to break amongst these frail MC’s. / Your fictional tales told with conviction. / Concise concepts once written enter bloodstream / since this inks been forbidden. / Distorted poet, speak prosen / Incite our peoples / We got raked over coals / But the truth’s still untold. / Meaning lost to these zealots / Prefer bullets to ballots / Watch the rich sip from chalice / As these eyes fill with malice / Peasant hands remain callous / as our days retain darkness / I swallow razor blades to keep my vocal cords sharpened. / Morbid mixture of mistrust and anger paints picture. / Perception now blurred words slurred to form scripture. / These sullen souls misinformed / Storm gates of stronghold / Strange fate that I chose / Morbid poet speak prose. / Tattered voices arose / Red Blood written on scroll / Escapes throat an ill flow / For my violence atoned. / Modest thoughts monotone / Infant MC’s play grown / Found them hung in hallways / from cords on microphones