Yeah, this piece contains about 90 titles of open mics i've written over the last 5 years. I might highlight them later if people really want to count. The link in my sig gives the complete list anyway.
200 Titles
A Desk in a Room in Downtown Liverpool
It began with what a man proclaimed as his vocation
A finger on the pulse with delusions and motivation
A 15 minute keystyle spawned some 16 lines
All in all a sickly rhyme off the top and on the grind
In fact a random rhyme somehow in perfect harmony
A subliminal message about what the spark could be
Nothing fake on this notepad, bullshit battered and bought
He picked up the fragments of his brain and gathered his thoughts
“Ok, I’m setting the stage for this dojo of the flow
A fusion of sparring minds and elevation mojo
No broken meditation, we’ll induce a perfect trance
Fuck an actual club verse, these words and verb’s dance”
A hundred titles came to mind; in fact he wrote a part 2
“No turning back now…”
Infection in his heart through
It was too much pain, hands tremor, this apartment is locked
Jack exited the scene to take a walk round the block
Roaming Thoughts
What rain revealed outside was his mirror image
Reflected in puddles, so angry, a clearer visage
Jack philosophised, as he walked, on making a difference
To use his God given talents without the Devil’s commitments
Escape the village of the damned, demons inside his head
Like an unwanted child from fiery semen he fled
As the dawn fades, Jack stomps towards the sunset
Lost in his meditation, it still wasn’t fun yet
Pictured in his mind 3 kinds of mental resurrection
First awareness, second creative, third; an institution
A classic scenario, full of meaningless promises
A quick key from verbal blacksmith’s and all their nonsense wit
The storm raged, Jack pulled up his collar and reflected on last week
How he’d come full circle, first as a bully who bashed geeks
To lastly, a spirit walker, whose focus was from the soul
Every deathwish aborted, and suicide his only goal
“God, if the wall had ears…”
He reflected sombrely
“They’d probably rather run for cover than face my honesty”
Soaked to the skin now by this quiet storm
“The rain writes my poetry…”
A picture he tried to form
In the end, his sparring mind ducked into a bar
Seeking drugs and how to do them, brain burnt up as a star
Bar Interior
The splash of floodlights had Jack feeling spaced out
Mind blown from loud music, the jukebox faced south
The feedback from speakers wouldn’t cease and quit bitching
Harsh laughter split the air from backstabbers and sick women
Jack’s vision was segmented by 64 lines
Some creeping social infection perfected to a raw shine
He slumped onto a bar stool, sweating from the inferno
As very wack old rhymes caused his ears to burn slow
His eyes glazed over, philosophising on black rainbows
Trouble, final thoughts and life’s temporary stage shows
“Am I demonically minded?”
He whispered under breath
“Or so plagued with weird dreams that there’s no wonders left?
Maybe I’m an asshole or just plain not a fighter
Who couldn’t realise his potential or stop spitting saliva
Riddled with writers block, paper ripped that rises
On the winds of change or other natural revisers.”
It was time for him to exit and seek an exorcism
To grab the knife by the blade, seek out some greater wisdom
Jack felt cool night air hit him like the pyramid offence
“This makes no sense at all.”
He thought
“But who’s got centz?”
This was just the beginning on this artist’s timelime
His evolution would soon take him to a true divine mind
http://www.rapbattles.com/forum/show...or-338433.html
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