.04 - nyc


I start to think, & then I sink into the paper, like I was ink. When I'm writing I'm trapped in between the line, I escape when I finish the rhyme... I know a few understand what I'm talking about - it was love for the thing that made me wanna stay out, it was love for the thing that made me stay in the house spending time, writing rhymes tryina find words that describe the vibe that's inside the space when you close yo' eyes & screw yo' face. Is this the pain of too much tenderness to make me nod my head in reverence? Should I visit this place & remember it to build landmarks here as evidence? Night time, spirit shook my temperament to write rhymes that portray this sentiment. We live the now for the promise of the infinite.

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