topical rap song title (prod. walteezyafn) / keke x 6ix9ine

i'm still in a super great place mentally but i'm beyond sick of shitty love poems for the moment. back to writing horrible, shots-fired raps that will never get popular. esskeetit.

writing a self-portait stylized as a caricature

deconstructing high-art with your own ignorant literature

each angel on angel dust, formed from dreams they crushed

i pray to the good lord that they'll be dead within the month

smoldering smokey like an industrial-era machine

from ashtray full of roaches and bags stained by amphetamines

uppers turnt to downers, this pattern's awful repetitive -

with white twist-top bottles and relaxing purple sedatives

oh dear god, what's addiction? what's abuse?

what is a lack of self-awarenessness, is this what you choose?

you've still yet to catch onto what the point of the joke's about -

laughing at your self-destructive ways and always shutting people out

best be careful pulling devils back through the needle tip

with veins of porcelain holding a syringe in a pistol grip

you may as well lean back and take it straight to your head

maybe cock the trigger back and take it aurally instead

waterboard yourself with the same shit used to baptize -

commodify your addiction, spread your zeal and fucking advertise

crush spirits more than drugs you synthesized

irrationality in high supply when scum don't die but multiplies

simply a fucking punter not understanding the mechanics,

of the modern dark horse race of heroin against xannax

follow the ill will of lil pump and takeshi69

and pick a few more lean rappers off of the assembly line

praise child rapists and idolize X (the woman beater)

integrate angst into every facet of your demeanor

like cloud rappers putting depression over beats to drop it

and trivializing mental health to a trendy fucking topic

a pissing contest of whose chemicals are most imbalanced

several slacktivist campaigns to further compound my malice

because since kendrick and earl did it, i guess therefore

it's now accepted rapping suicide outside of horrocore

with the grace of a ballerina with two broken ankles

dancing swan lake at gun-point through nooses and tangles

til their speech slightly stumbles and their steps begin to slur

scapegoated and shot dead just like the romanov's were

washed up like a hydrophilic release views

you're migos in a fair fight, motherfucker, you lose

like big sean passing predatory behaviour onto desiigner

i'd call it GOOD music but mumma didn't raise a fucking liar

you'll drop quicker than cambridge analytica's facebook shares

reach the heights of dee barnes just to "fall down the fucking stairs"

go and scribble down a verse in the shape of a malignant magazine

cock your pain and agony and squeeze to end this tragedy

to try to live a life maybe slightly less plagued

by thoughts of chemical spitfire and dull turncoat blades

and the images of martyrs sacrificing their swine

to the whetting steel against your broken, brittle spine

you said if i really loved you, i wouldn't let you go astray,
but it's hard to keep you static when you're forever running away.
constantly plunging in and out of uncomfortable situations.
clearly apparent how much we care for each other by kept-up communications
but the isolation gives me a chance to slowly twist within my head
the longing thoughts and memories into pure hatred instead.
deal with your insecurities like i deal with depression,
not well or effectively, simply have it feed your regression.

this poem will remain unfinished, along with all of the rest
i'm too sad to gather the words to properly convey that i'm depressed.
i fear i can't starve it off with pretty words any longer,
i'm failing to hold it at bay, even with all the metaphors i conjure.
i should have followed my faulty plans rather than thinking it through
and then maybe i'd have found a way to be able to rid myself of you
so that the bitterness can seep into the space which you once occupied...

i wish i could cheat on girls and have them ultimately crawl back to me,
that i could be the one to fuck up and yet still receive an apology.
i wish people would return to my manipulative ways with emotion,
but everybody eventually gives up on fixing that which is profoundly broken.
i am slowly fading, sustained solely on spite;
i fill myself to the brim with hatred to help prop me upright.
i don't think i've fully justified being totally alone on this earth
but i'm sure i'm getting what i deserve and not what i think that i'm worth.
i cannot recall exactly where this bend turned to a break
nor can i pick precisely the point where the pain turned to an ache.
i've completely forgotten when i started to lean so heavily on this crutch
or when absolutely everything became just all too much.

i'm giving this my all, i'm trying my absolute best
to not lump you together alongside all of the rest
but i feel i'm failing quite spectacularly, i fear i'll be replaced.
i'm so afraid you won't want me again until i am entirely erased.
until i am finally the piece of shit you swore that i never was -
ignoring the exhaustion and all the hardships i have caused.
i'm really fucking sorry, i need the oppurtunity to communicate
that i have yet to go a single single day where i do not carry your weight.
i will always run back to you no matter what you've put me through
because all my days still seem to always start and end with you.
i cannot shake the lightest of blues that is your eyes,
how they are so damn wonderful and how they would hypnotize.
i'm begging do not forget that i will be right here
whether it takes but several months or rather, several years.

how dare you refer to the scratches on your legs as cuts,
holding a dull pair of sissors in between cigarette butts.
debating a method of taking the rhook from reaper.
if you really wanted to kill yourself you'd push the blade half an inch deeper.
you'd rip the skin from your arms to rewire your neurology,
finally giving the world a punchline for its most tragic of comedies,
but you don't because you're a coward, too afraid of his own death.
carrying around as many demons as a modern day MacBeth.
left with absolutely nothing except for your worthless degree,
should've ended it those nights you'd committed to driving into a tree
but the car always swerves in the opposite direction.
and you can't overdose because tolerance offers far too much protection.
if suicide is nullified, you're truly not sure what to do
other than continue to let your pain and selfishness slowly envelop you.

i hope you cope half as well when you catch my scent on your sheets,
because i'm doing just fine now being the one of us who never eats.
i falter around the fracture shards of all that failed to keep,
doing just fine omitting the time between when i wake up and go back to sleep.
it's gotten awful hard for me to try and keep or match your pace,
i try to stumble after you but my feet are stuck firm in place
and i've been trying for so long now it's become more sad than comical -
navigating this human maze but forever tripping over the exact same obstacles.