Internal battle

(Re-post)


Mind is a jumble,
deep seeded thorough
thoughtlessness.

The scars left
upon my emotions
or lack thereof.

Internal battles
fought with precedence,
good and evil,
both are equal
these thoughts,
where I come from.

Pros and cons,
of consequences
rendered upon the
literary mind,
the internal battle
is what I find.

The thing
most sought after,
through the
many years of hurt.

The embrace
of a lover.
Embrace lost in time.

Evidence
of fidelity
and yearning
of learning
and time after time
and line after line
of an itching
and burning...
from a soul's constant returning,
to a body maturing.

The poetic flow
that courses my veins,
that nobody knows
and I try to explain,

In my poems and writings
my prose slams exciting,

on the unknowing mind,
who,
as I speak
gets lost in time.

And,
the grime
of the winding,
and
perfection
of timing,
as my words carve your brain,
from my words you lay slain.

Shifty and gifted,
my mind deeply twisted,
And infected perception,  
perfected inception,
the depth of my flow...
Cause nobody knows,
a rhyme
within a rhyme,
within a rhyme
is how deep it  goes.

My pen renders,
as my mind composes.

As my body reacts
to my souls emotions

And
my internal
and external,
meet with commotion...
the man child exposed,
punched dead square
in the nose.

And
as the tears drop
and my fears stop,
within and without
he thinks nobody knows,

No one sees
his pain,
though it thoroughly shows.

Like worn on his sleeve, in public he bleeds,

As he pours
his heart out,
on paper so stout,
to bear
his heavy thoughts
and heavy mind,
as he gets lost
in time.

And runs out of lines.

Wasted youth...
of...
mine...

and slow....
to...
a...
stop...
He...
Grinds...