what can will, or can’t, i can’t tell the anvil can’t mark the hard shell plans will pass with the cards dealt at a stand still, sober was the past self opened up the clasp, yelled hoping it was heartfelt soaking up harsh, melt slowing up the past’s belt owe it to my pa’s health and odour, couple secrets i could never let my ass tell i promise on your motherfucking god i hate writing at the same time i don’t mind it but i know it’s a couple lives lost for every erased line then we remember it takes times blades cry when the belly of snakes remain fine couldn’t reiterate a second of july to september take flight and remember something i that can’t remember usually but it’s always something i don’t care for what can will, or can’t, i can’t tell the anvil can’t mark the hard shell plans will pass with the cards dealt at a stand still, sober was the past self skipped on the specifics because they hurt more spliffs twisted like a ripstik on the dirt floor that’s just to rid me of my worst thoughts i’m far christian but surely wouldn’t fucking mind if church called still it’s hard to say if we’re worse off, gotta wait until it wears off, this shit wears on me i gotta be careful because it’s certain dollars it’s not worth it to work for, i have no grievence that is worthy to be paperbound staring at ceilings know the curfew kept her waiting ‘round airing out feelings and it’s hurting ‘cause they weighted down peter earlier than he could say “i’m proud”

i was fucked from the jump, i say that knowing my position would be lucky for some it’s a couple i love, my mother for one a couple losses but all they did was toughen me up the trust didn’t come, i gave nothing for some look at my 2022, then tell me who can fuck with my run? this started out as something that i just did for fun now i need it to function, not resting ‘till once it is done i’m not rapping i’m just coming up with jokes now it’s getting to the point i’m not hungry until i smoke now heel lock my reeboks just to crush some ash with them no thoughts where the hats living, stuck the same age like ash ketchum, in hell i’ll play my game of catch with him, driving home fucked up without a scratch on him, conversations with the sky like shouldn’t have that got him? i took november to learn, swore it never could hurt, but wasn’t shocked when it ended up hurting that’s just the bends and the curves only kept what’s deserved and left the rest for the earth lately i’m pressing the purse, september the effort was worse but i took november to take the time still erasing lines, making pages mine you can raise the roof, i’ll raise the sky line was paper-fine between my mistakes and i the cover ava and i made aged like some fucking graceful wine, now sounding more like grey and white sober like i’m supposed to be, i believe a father is/////

///// heard it’s all about timing, why’s god trying to sauna my climate might make a couple calls to my tribesmen, wonder where all the fauths on my line went approaching torchlights, a little lighter when the lighter flicks head empty as front porch chairs i’m less rhyming more playing tiny violins, soundtrack to my unpaused prayers, one more year left before i want what’s next one ear left, the left one is on the way to ava in the mail, songs i made to savour the fickle, the frail, give it a minute or second, the saviour is thick in my marrow palm to my chest but i’m hitting the nail hard on the head, hardly hurting or asking for breath hard enough trying to make this rapping hard for myself i was never after the wealth, just look at the drama we’re dealt but i’m not forgetting my worth, i’m just spending it first stand next to my words until my body bent in a hearse these fuck ass rappers renting their words, never thought about trying, i heard it’s all about timing until the actual trust runs out the taxman fucked up, put 6k in some bad hands that you can’t trust really thought i’d shown restraint or kept my palms tucked? alcohol, weed and just a little bit of hard drugs and i’m scared of losing my ma’s love to these dark songs most are men at 22, i’m still just a garçon hard heart and some fucked lungs, it hurts the most on sober nights but i only have scars to show for the drunk ones still trying to live it out, i’m not one you can march on, negative account so what could i lose if i fuck his ass up? probably less than i’d lose if i forgive him now that light in my head is still as loud go figure, drinking didn’t dim it down, smoking didn’t dim it down, fucking didn’t dim it down know he’s still around, but even if he was when alive, his ghost isn’t proud plus i’m getting so skinny now when i walk in heavy wind there’s genuinely some resistance now negative account, trying to spin a frown i kept the pivot down comfort picking from the ground, wrap my lips around it, drilling down on forgotten time still checking her spotify, don’t bother asking which god am i terms of marking trauma offered mountains too tall to climb time opens mouths, the tick tock more a cry to the ground but i was fine in my ultrasound, worlds i was unbothered by i promise cathy would be mortified