decisions

I thought you were better than that, there’s so much shit in your effortless crap. You give it so much danger, but you’re more swerve than swag. I lurch at the hurt you portray when you gag, expressionless switching from riches to rags. A lacklustre pain in the face of a saint, half-arsed portrait in how to gain all that you can, acting as if you’re doing, all that you can, as if you’re entitled to take, all that you can and it doesn’t matter what you say, how you say or when you say because I’m not about to fade. I’ve seen your fate, it’s a poor trade what can I say, you take chances this way and that way your way and his way, like my way is the low wave and you’re on a high way, when each which way you game play sees you arrive like it’s witch play. Your arrival, like you’re a rival, bitch I’m Survival every fucking day. Your mind states child’s play while I’m childminding your out stay, your common sense is stale mate you’re spitting hate in a different way.

I give you a piece of my mind, you stare back with blind eyes, like you’ve high sight, exchanging hind sight for daylight lies, keep your sighs, and your cries. You’re still centering on yourself when it’s someone else that’s died. You’re wasting, on my time. You’re not mine, yet you’re finding heights for me to climb I reach for truth, and you still can’t put your rhymes right or take the time to live your life right, at least try to provide and put up a moral side to the fight, but wait, that’d mean you’d need to think, right?  I thought we were tighter than light but I’m tired of your trite tripe pretending you’re my contrite tribe, when all you’re here for is paper, and a bit of live bribe, the bride side, where the dark resides I’m not fighting, I happen to see right through you, which is why we collide.

Transparent like the sky, in opposition you’re apparent in the form of a thorn in the devil’s hired sly, hiding bands and riding sides isn’t part and parcel of a partnership between husband and wife, your life boat sinks in wide blue lines as you align yourself with beelzebabas, and their gassed up vibes.

ink is free, so...

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