Sometimes … the somber soul that safely dwells within,
can breathe the sweetest sigh of relief at the sight of relevance.
Encaged excitement, forced to be held in.
Once released flies freely like the path of the blowing wind.
So how is that a sin?...
When I choose to do what I must do to win.
Please retreat from my oxygen, trying to box me in.
I distinguish your meager personas which is so sickening,
From the benevolent beauty beneath that is truly listening.
A swift slice from my verbal katana blade can cut you under the chin,
Words make deep incisions, your sweat and blood create a special blend.
Who are you to pass judgment, because my creator, I just talked to him.
He told me to laugh in your face for adversity is my forever friend.
Those who are jealous of you are not happy with what’s in them,
So Leave those to me, your Protector until the end.
Now I can offer you 2 choices like the red pill or the blue pill then,
Will either awake you, or leave you to your own intentions.
But are you so emotionally poor that you cant afford to pay attention?
To the fact that your so called best friend you claim to love is missing?
Not in the literal, but the metaphoric meaning of the term missing,
For just a kind word from a saint or earthly savior he is wishing.
But that, in itself is his own failure that he cant win in.
Because you cant expect sainthood in any creatures, men or women.
It’s senseless to look for God-Like action in those without his comprehension.
We are all flawed.
To expect otherwise can be frowned upon and condemning.
When you need to be saved you look to God, not humans amongst the living.
Its obvious. To see over the trees you use a giraffe and not a lemming.
I often notice that your mentality is one of extreme banality.
Your mundane existence, im sure, is placed here to bother me.
In an effort for equality, I extend a helping eye to see,
Your faults, for to stay uninvested would be hardhearted of me.
So I will continue to try to be,
Everything you thought you ever saw inside of me.
The kind heart, giving, crusader in the fight against mediocrity.
But those who worship ignorance refuse to let my anger rest.
So again I take up arm and cause destruction and utter duress.
Only to never lift a finger, for my words hit targets with precision, then bless.
Here lies a never ending body count, Never excepting anything less.
I run circles through you mind fields touching every nerve and sense in the place.
Your grammatical legs are too short to catch up in this turtle race.
Im at the finish line, enjoying every tasty morsel of anguish on your face.
Hopping you choke on your venom laced words I made you digest. Now say grace.
The antagonist in my story you have been like Wilson Fisk.
Tho im obviously more creative than allowed by your intelligence.
Im sorry Mr. Cooper, But I cant live with you Bradley’s in bliss.
Because this clear tablet I fed you,
Will only help you realize you’re NOT limitless…
Royce Da 6’5
1/27/2012 ©
