Words


Words

I'm searching for the right words to describe what I'm feeling.
Its just, viscerally i'm not alright.
Lyrically, it's like a book in my head.
Filled with words, so many pages, silent without a sound in sight.
It's just, I don't want to give off the wrong impression, but I don't want to write.
I'm laughing on the track even though it isn't a laughing matter.
Spitting cocky because I'm developing this lyrical flatter.
These words are the only way I know how to express myself and feel alright.
So, it almost feels like I have to write.
So, alright, i'll write.
Caught up in this fight, it just seems like I'm fighting myself.
Dealing with my health, i've been battling this since my bed was the couch.
Back in '09, sleeping with roaches and rats.
If you would have handed me one back then.
I swear I would have taken that gat, cocked it back, and I wouldn't have even been here to write this rap.
Alright, maybe I went a little bit too far.
And it probably wasn't too smart.
But, what do you expect me to say, sorry I don't have a fake heart?
Alright, well, lets restart.
It's just, sometimes it feels like i'm sad for no reason.
Feeling like a spectator in life, with no reason.
It's the everlasting, never fading, depression that doesn't need a reason.
It's just, sometimes it kills me even more when people around me see it.
They aren't getting it.
Alright, It's my fault, i'm not explaining it.
Would it matter if I did?
There isn't anything you can do, and it isn't because of you.
So don't feel obliged to do, what you feel is obligated of you to do.
It's just, sometimes I find comfort in the silence.
So I recomfort myself with the miscomfort, as an attempt to feel comfortable with the uncomfortable.
It's not adding up.
Discrepant increments, it feels like impotent imprisonment.
Articulating it the best way possible.
It isn't ambivalence.
Its not that I feel some type of way, or that I'm annoyed by you.
It's that, my love runs deep, and that should always be known to you.
Expectations and being held to high standards.
It's like, i'm supposed to feel this way, act that way, and always stay the same way.
I downplay my emotions, even though this is the truth I'm trying to convey.
It's funny, I said this before in an unsaid verse.
It's like, comparing a paper-cut to an amputation.
I mean, imagine the frustration.
Not contradicting myself, but certain individuals need to worry about themselves.
Take a look in the mirror, and judge theirselves.
Point out their own flaws, and not someone else.
I just gave you 4 bars, all for yourself.
I feel like a clown, expressing myself.
Here I go again, talkin' to myself.
So many words inside my head.
So many words that I should've said.
So listen close to the words that i'm about to say.
It's Officially 6 AM in New York, and I'm sitting here thinking about it.
Should I open my mouth, or should I just forget about it?
It seems like a mistake, but I feel the need to shout it.
It's my art, my thoughts, and my process.
So excuse me if you don't have the ability to digest.
I got love for you all, so don't get mistaken.
I care about everyone and everything despite what you partake in.
It's just, almost everything seems like a lie.
Why can no one say what's actually on their mind?
Interlinking these rhymes with codes that force you to define.
Even though it isn't my position.
But can everyone stop saying "it's fine", when clearly nothing is really fine.
You ever imagined how it would look after some time?
Would the thought of you even cross their mind?
Would they still consider you to be from the same bloodline?
Imagine the sight of where they'll turn to after years of spite.
Think this is light?
Nothing bothers me more than someone messing with a life.
I'm just so sick of seeing all the wrong in my eyes.
Take a look from your own eyes, and you decide.
When you're alone, that's who you really are.
What you do, what you think, that's who you really are.
No point in lying to yourself, you know who you are.
So many words inside my head, believe me I can continue.
But I know.
Even if I gave you 90 more bars, I still couldn't get through to you.
To you, them, and everyone else.
So who am I writing for?
Myself.

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