whatiwas

i thought up a song and lost it, the words started to come but dribble out, replaced with some story about looking at a dead body and that was my productivity for the day, i did some more thinking, if you care to know, and i decided to stop fearing people with high-dollar educations, i'm making the same progressions i did almost a decade ago and losing my vocabulary in the process, i'm realizing people are beyond my frame of reference ( by the time i reach tomorrow, i won't be me anyway) and patience has become a luxury again--

dig, dig, dig this,
my spade is too deep beneath my skin, unearthing the heart of the matter--but the rhymes on matter have been all played out, i can't make this rhyme, i find it binding but i slipped, don't stand behind me--

i'll call it a misnomer 'cause i've been told i can't name things right--this is a freestyle, meanwhile my cadence be stolen, words rollin', if i can keep this up, we'll call it golden--oops, don't let your tongue go to far tonight, i mean to me, it's profanity how i soil the mic, sodden, or down-trodden, like jesus was when they put him upon the pike, impaled him on his own kindness, and that was his most enduring teaching: the other cheek smarts just as much as its cousin when struck, i even lost what i was biting--

i call it dug like it was past tense, whatever the past meant is walking the loneliest road, you can only get meaning out of this if you read too much into it.