• rodney 9w

    Gold.

    My mind don't work like it used to.
    My mind don't talk to me like it used to.
    Ever, if there was a chance to break—
    I'd break open too.

    From the—
    Shackles of my own.
    Corner stuck off my crown.

    I feel slipping.
    I feel like I'm crippling.
    Humbly walking yet judged by the way I'm living.

    The thing that I'm nothing.
    Feeling nothing.
    Empty in my soul, spirit and whole.
    Aim to reach the goal.
    When I barely can afford clothes to get on the field.

    I'm sold to death.
    Guess she too detests the way I'm living.
    So smothered by the vile world.
    Wild things they've pulled out of the mould.

    Speakers speak, MCs spit.
    Poets rhyme.

    I whine like a wolf for the moon.
    But she's distant too.

    So in search of my soul.
    Feel my hole.
    Feel the holes, collect my blood in bowls.

    I'm empty, still breathing air.
    That's why I'm as precious as gold.
    As cold as no human palms can hold.
    Nothing like anyone as ever told.

    ©rodney