Thunder…

My heart;
Thumps like thunder,
With electrity in the veins.
Caught up;
Within the whirlwind is,
My rattling chains.
Through generations of,
Inherited pains,
I think I’m;
Brainstorming a change,
Morphing into;
Something strange,
Piece by piece,
Completely; Rearranged.

Crystal skies,
As blue as;
Heisenberg meth.
Suddenly;
These skies turn,
As dark as death.
Suffocating;
In the oxygen,
Inhale it with,
Every breath.
My rib cage cracks,
To pierce the chest,
Guess;
It’s another night,
Without rest.
Kinda hopin’ that,
This is all a test.
Oh;
Good Lord,
Don’t you know,
I have tried my best?
Granted;
I know I’m blessed,
But this shit,
Is such a mess.
……..
The thunder goes…
Clap! Clap! Clap!
Better step the fuck back.
Fingers snap;
Knuckles get cracked.
Gone without trace,
This is my;
Disappearing act.
I could really care less,
What it is;
You think that I lacked.
You’re you; So,
How do you know,
My facts?
You only know what,
I allow you to know,
Through;
These poetic tracks.
Anything else,
Just ain’t your beeswax.
So mind it before,
You get dropped onto,
Those kneecaps.
I’m just a good guy,
Who happened,
To catch a bad wrap.
That temptation,
Truly is a death trap.
Daydreamed,
In a coma-like nap,
Going through,
An unconscious gap,
Of time.
Past fuck ups,
Fuel this rhyme.
I only wanted,
What I thought,
Was mine;
Didn’t care much,
About the crime.
Big talk;
But unprepared,
To serve a dime.
All I wanted,
In this lifetime,
Was to shine.
Learn to combine,
My heart & mind.
Realize;
There’s no such thing,
As confined.
It is I; Who draws,
The fuckin’ line.

From this balcony,
I see;
Lightning & catastrophe,
Coming for me.
………
Some people want me dead,
It’s suicide;
To take a step inside,
This fragile head.
Everyone who visits,
Loves;
To pull the threads,
And lately I’ve,
Been off of my meds,
Sitting on the edge,
Of bed;
With regret & dread.
With a handful,
Of thoughts left unsaid.
My mind;
Been Talking with Ted.
For so long,
I’ve been trying to,
Earn this cred,
Only to find that it led,
To countless expectations.
They don’t respect art,
For it’s illustration.
They just want a swift,
Type of conversation.
Added complications,
That never make,
Those preconceived,
Calculations.
Can’t handle it, so;
You sign the resignation,
Perform your own castration.
You won’t find restoration,
Digging through past regurgitation.
You won’t find recalibration,
In constant celebration,
Or;
At least not the kind,
That provides,
Beneficial renovation.
Your end; Your demise,
Is looking a bit like,
The book of revelations,
With even darker connotations.
But it’s everything,
You dreamed of right?
So;
Then why you waitin’?
Time’s a wastin’.

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