The Warmth of Daylight
SmokaJoka & Spoken Deity
A poet up all night, and sleeping all day...
Stays awake...writing...writing anything he can for his fans...
High up in an 40 story hotel, on the top floor
Is where his story began...
Dimlit room, writing until dawn and sleeping before daybreaks
Hate and rage placed in my hands for as long as I stay awake
They didn't like my last poem
I write furiously, a story better than my last, a dope rhymescheme
No, but they've got to see a side of me I gotta release and put behind me
Greeks used to say,
“Your soul is in your gut”
So I know it’s more than butterflies…
I can never explain
without tearing
Inside of my grotesque
self and showing
What lies within my scars,
cuts and welts,
what lies behind veils of
asshole remarks.
ARGH! I can't get my mind off these haters, let's try this once again
After rolling a blunt, lighting, and feeling my lungs burn within
Blowing out smoke I stare at my typewriter, this is getting bleak
Finger's weak, I look to the window...I haven't seen daylight in weeks
I heard once,
“If people knew what was on the inside,
they would never applaud…”
That’s legit because I’m
not much more
than fucked dreams,
shitty rhyme schemes
and blank pad of paper.
Best of all my pen wont click
and if words ever come out,
it simply drip, drops
making my words spoken
as abstract thoughts.
Stretching my arms, sighing that I'm finally off to a good start
I never knew it'd be this hard to speak the truth from my heart
This is my last piece I'll ever write after all, I must leave fans satisfied
Glad if I make them teary-eyed it'll make my sleep even more dignified
I finish my poem, and approach the window, it's dawn again
About time to take it in, I watch as the day and night blends
Opening the window, a smile finally on my face as daybreaks
How perfect my poem ends this way...
Sun beaming on my face as I leap from the window on my first day
In many, many weeks...to meet my grave
I’ve always said,
“The sun rises in your eyes”
Slow sun fingers reach over the land,
silently seeking my hand and locking
between my fingers.
Fuck all to the
poetic system, this is raw.
It’s real, it’s me,
it’s how I feel and I
hope to God for you it’s the same.
....
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