What Do We Tell OUR Sons

I write this verse first, not to curse the written word, as I put pen to paper, to tell a tale of joy, laughter, sadness, madness and danger, it is explosive the written language, I’m like a drug addict, I need a fix, a hit, cough, cough, I love this shit, as I glide in stride with my lyrical baggage, looking ragged, this is a true marriage, as I discuss a metaphor, a simile, thoughts that only I can hear, feel and see, it’s an art form I share, a passion so dear, it will even bring grown men to tears, I’m in my own little word with the written word, I hear voices talking to me, it’s euphoric, I scream, I shout, and agonize in my sleep, the voices never give me a break, it keeps me awake, I’m a lyrical junkie, been one for quite some time, I have written so many stories that would last a life time, I’m sick, my mind is playing tricks on me, the lyrical drug is kicking in, it’s taking control, I need rehab, I need my swag, as I write this verse first, not to curse the written word, as I put pen to paper, trying to get with the masters, the written word forecasters, who were hooked on this drug, the written drugs, the lyrical morphine, the written smack, I’m taking it back, way back, black, as I try to reach the written pedestal, the Celeste sound of words spiraling through my veins, I’ve been an addict for most of my life, my pen and my paper are my wife, I’m oding, call the paramedics, the edicts, no not yet, let me complete the text, next, I write this verse first, not to curse the written word but as an addict addicted to the art form and its lyrical context 


i write this verse

My Words Don't Lay Flat...

Of Poetry

I love to play with words...play with me!

SoMoS'LyRiC

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