Hip Hop Forum

Ventilating, plate on the table, my dinner's waiting,
Scintillating, feeling my eyes raping the nickel plating,
Incubating rage in the place of hated and bitter raving,
If fate's in my way, I'm saving my face and dropping casings,
Cursing occasions that worsen my hate, a sour cadence,
Birthing creations from lyrics that man my battle stations,
Turning the tables in mirror matches with fallen fables,
Burning in ashes of mangled tangles of falling angels,
Choking and strangled I dangle over the threshold,
Of deaths goals pressed whole into a depressed mold,
Headstones, odes to generations of dead souls,
Who let those that embittered them suffer death throes,
Waking up at the table, now my bread's cold,
Lights off, sunshine blends fuller with dust motes,
Soul's old, my blood lends color to crushed hopes,
Flows on, away from my final clutter of brush strokes.