Write to this Picture XXVII

[Laureate]

...

[Siege]

your second stand defies humanity
beaches scattered with profanity

your land your land

your heart rejects your hands
to perform the artwork of the damned

your land your land

your sky beckons destruction, but your sun faces rejection
beaneath the poisen lies the real key to supreme adolescence

HIS LAND

have you learned your lesson? will you leave your heart hostage
kid its just a small fucking initiation to college

your land your land, leave it be

[Possible]

Hitting this for you Lyric,

P.S. Straight Pic let me see *ahem*

I know its just poetry, but I was feeling some sort of verse more.

Ahh, the good old days, See I remember back when
empty bottles clanking around in the back of a wagon
Sobriety checkpoints, done passed all the rubbish
even paying 65$ for crown at 15, somthing alustrious
Getting dumb high, stumbling, acting as if your steel
10$ a fifth though>? you got your self a god damne deal
put to perspective, wake up, drink, untill I pass right out
but never before 6 am, you can call me a night scout
Party hard my friends, your only young once, so live it up
Trap the vivid imagery, hold it close and never give it up.

That is all.

Pz.

[Illus']

I drink to I sink my life problems and beliefs.
I drink for relief, drown my sorrows even if it's brief.
Drink to I kill reality and sob and a heaven's bliss.
Two bottles motioned in it's vertical limits.
Cheers to callin it quits. Death no mercy kill me quick.
Bottles my best friend till the end.
This harsh world is no longer as a gulp liquor.
Death come quick release me from the earth's picture.
Poisoned with alcohol, drink to I fall, the walls spins.
My mental given in. Liquor has taken away my sins.
Cheers to my two best friends.

[shawty"B"]

As I sit out n the porch in this wicker chair that my grandpa gave me
I rock slowly as I think of those haunting memories, the girl that slayed me
A single tear falls into the night, screaming her name, it’s crying
It’s always in this brief reality I see that without her I’m slowly dying
This can’t be the end, there ha to be another to see her, maybe a picture
Run through this empty house as a mad man and a ray of hope flickers
Tearing through a phone book thinking ‘if I call her maybe she’ll come!’
It hits me then that she won’t pick up the phone, how could I be so dumb?
Replacing the phonebook I walk down stairs, reminiscing the painful truth
“The love of your life ran out on Valentine’s night, all because of you.”
Sitting back on the porch in the wicker chair again, all I can do is think,
I can’t stand living without her; to wash away the pain my only option is drink
Becoming so intoxicated that entire night has become funny, I begin to laugh
I remember how I ran after her in the night, and how I witnessed that crash
Smirnoff worked, pains gone, hallucinating, now I can see her, that pain in her eyes
She’ll never know it was me in that the car that hit her, the night that she died.

[Atti]

One, two, three, two, one...

What's one drop to the second?
Nothing more than gluttony,
A jealousy among the vice's.

Virtue... Virtue met your lips
Long ago, but only to say good-bye.

As sin knocked down the door
And raped your virgin tongue.

Now you count your fingers,

One, two, thre- ...

Ever day dies another sequence,
As you need its agile tally
To help support your weighted decisions.

Go ahead, kiss that bottle goodnight
While another sits aside in envy...
Because you could careless the price
For lust in this liquid dream.

Kiss them both, go ahead...
Why pick favorites,
Mr. Equal Opportunity... love all the races.

[Moniker]

Down-Tempo Syndrome


Lets get this art retarded;
write off the party and fight
for the right to be moronic.
"Turn up the music, idiot!"
Is what I hear transmitted,
fading in and out my aids.
I only drink to get laid; only
play for the sake of the game.
It's insane how the industry
doesn't need to sell cocaine
for us start acting like fools.
DJ's take needles to our brains,
with mouths hanging with drool
like it's cool to use novocaine
to kill the pain of mainstream.

They teach music in special Ed,
bringing it back to the old school
with buck teeth and a gold tooth.
(Rap was taught during nap time)
I'm to tired to count to one mic,
seeing double lines plugged into my
crossed-eyes; reciting dumb rhymes.
I don't get crunk, I just get confused,
drinking booze with untied shoes.
I fell on stage, my stomach in knots
dancing like an extra in foot loose,
they'll love you if your stupid or not
just buy your integrity another shot.

I got wasted and had to call a cab
only to recieve a bass line dial tone.
The studio took me to a photo booth
recorded vocals in one quick shoot.
Then over to the listening room
where I re-viewed the slow groan
over a beat in down-tempo syndrome.
The undeveloped film was dull,
though a million copied were sold
I over-dosed; stoned my career cold
but never cracked my thick skull.