Hip Hop Forum

I don't talk sweet, I spit truth, present proof,
Rip roots where boots tread, a spread where lies grew,

My eyes knew, the ink was loosed, the page bruised,
The same dude as me was a sage engaged to,

An outlet for rage on a stage he played through,
Fountains of pain he bathed in and lost youth,

He fought too, ridiculed by the fools he talked to,
Brought to a decision, as a mission he sought booths,

Spitting admissions of visions he held inside,
Bled and cried, salt and crimson, demons exorcised,

Sweated and tried to fix life, promised a compromise,
Mic'd his inner thoughts, knowledge killing the lies,

Spilling his pride, pad, pen, grim looks in his eyes,
Went to war against himself, fully militarized,

Relished the ride, no telling if he was dead or alive,
Emerged spitting blades, a surgical edge in his rhymes,

Deadened at times, reddened his eyes, hoping to cope,
Struggled, choked, fighting ropes affixed to his throat,

Mumbled and moped calling angels, "Deliver me hope",
Stumbled and broke on a bed of all the lyrics he wrote,

Tumbled and groped for a grip to avoid the fall,
Opened his eyes, spied in red what it said on the wall,

"Other worlds await to sate the hunger you've woken",
He let go, fell forever gripping lyrical notions.