Cigarrette Rap

Give me
the gourmet
Serve me
what's best

What ever you have to say to me
Get it off your chest.
Say it cleary, I need to hear this
What's a toy rapper to miss? 


Fuck your fumblings, mumblings and shite
I feel no remorse to throw you off the mic
Whorish anthems praising yourself
Only leads you to a white hot hell

Things I have are things I've made
Get out of face with your kool aid
You drink this shit?
Goddam how can you
I want to slap you
Let these fake walls crumble around you


Hate me for speaking truth
I'll pull your face apart tooth by tooth
It's hard when reality hits
Difficult when a system makes you it's bitch
Did it to yourelf
Get some fucking help
You're running on fumes but never peak out from the shell
A hard crust
Notebook smells like must
Never bother to write anything new
You're busy drinking brew
Getting off like somebody owes you
Get the fuck out
It's a rout
Masks can't hide ugly trappings
Don't worry you're not what's happing
This month, next month, whenever
Act tough but I'm just clever
Agile and smooth
Believe what you hear, it's true

The sky knows my name
And your rhymes are a shame
Don't bother, no respect for scum
Busy seeking selfish fame 

Day after day I sit and I think of the problems that weigh my mind down. I need to be high, on something, isolated so that I may drift ever deeper into this depression that will kill me. I no longer try and control my habits of lust and addiction. I embrace my faults as all must do to fully accept death as my inevitability. My condition is self inflicted, and I accept this. Simplicity and the stark reality of my lack of desire to feel better. However, feeling better is all relative to those reading this. Some may look at my decision over the past couple of weeks and try and convince me repentance is my solution. I look at my decisions and decided that intoxication, a willingness to numb the pain further, is what is in my best interests. If you don't like this conclusion, well explain your thesis. Create foundations and theories as to why I'm so fucked. While you do this I'm going to roll a joint and get high so that your false hopes may ring dull against a fleeting happiness that is my conclusion. I delay fate long enough so that I may enjoy the lighter notes of pain. The times where everything feels real and as if I have some semblance of control. This is a fool's game that I have played however, and I am a fool in believing that control was ever mine. There will always be the over arching belief that God is real, that he has already laid a plan for my life. I have accepted this and come to the conclusion that I am content with being the example. A cousin that is avoided at family dinners, a church member that is only politely tolerated but never worth serious attention. My hope is laced with medicine, in order to block out any waning hopes of everlasting glory. I dope myself so that I may feel freedom from those who are ever present in my life. Those that would want the best for me. I feel the looming shadow of failure that always guards my soul, the one thing I have left to offer for redemption. Reality is neither cold to my touch nor rosy in color, it is gray with nuetrality. Bland with simplicity that my road is never one that has lead me towards life. Only hope in promises that I never fully understood.