In the Mental’s…

 





I piggy-back’d
on my mental’s sack
Just to juxtapose
on the verse…

Gut check the spit,
as the lips purse…

“Why seed:
“ten’ll get you twenty” back
Yet all these feelin’s R instant sheddin…’

Unconcern’d ‘bout any regrettin’
They fed-sin, n’ then I’m full on jack’d
Until gettin’ fed up, then I curse…

First, I slide slightly
astride a line

Their sight-see-
me spewin’ outta my mind…

As if by chance,
my words enhance the blind
Leadin’ to all trails weighted
of lethal conscience’ unwind

Straight sprayin’,
quick jab a verse,
I decree eyes attack

Issues within flee
unleashed, free
to saturate a sole
encased, released, intact…