I’m stuck in between writers block and a ticking clock; there’s not enough minutes in an hour to cherish a day.
My eyes stay glued to the pages, that’s how I stay awake. I sit up in my bed and contemplate. The second I close my eyes, I lose 4 hours out the next day.
I’m speeding on the train, trying to beat late to work. They say you work hard then you play, but I sweat a little more on the playground because that’s my job day to day. When night creeps around, Im waiting for the sandman with my A.K.
Pen also known as my artillery. I’m breaking and entering in the memory bank of my own mind, Trying to ditch the reoccurring visions of what I thought was love at first sight. It took one night, to lose sight of who I was. So Ive experienced being blind.
That’s may be the reason when I recite these lines I have to close my eyes. I feel a pain in my chest, like I overdosed. Instead I keep going line after line after line. And realize that pain is only that feeling of wanting you when I coming down.
From this high. I’m sorry. My hearts a bit tender. Im soaring trying to catch up with my pride, whose trying to catch up with my ego, whos chasing after my mind.
See its not the fame I want; I want the audience inclined. I’m satisfied with being well known. They haven’t yet gotten the message, I’m ahead of my time, but behind.
I live in the moment. If my piece doesnt make your heart skip a beat, I dont own it.