Opiate
*trapped in thought before the performance begins*
Brought up and groomed, by prophets of doom
As an object, with whom, to deposit the gloom-
Product that fumes from their optics. I loomed-
In the shy depths of my mind, locked in a room
Busting my fist on an unmoving wall. Using all-
I had, to abuse the hall that held the soothing call-
Of the crowd behind it. Which brought suspense.
Then the wall faded, & I met with the audience
*steps onto the stage & points mic at the crowd*
Wick-ed!.. Wick-ed!.. Wick-ed!.. Wick-ed!..
As my adrenalin pumps, I begin with a grunt
Sending the front, into a frenzy. The thumps-
Of the kicks take hold, and I start to spit shit
And get lost in the intense bliss that this sent-
Through my mind as I rhyme with a sick lisp,
Taking shots at fellow MCs, on my shit list..
Already hype & loud, but it ignites the crowd.
The righteous howl when the DJ stops the beat.
“1 song down, 12 to go, niggas. I like the heat!”
That comment made the audience just flip,
As the next beat drops, I can see that I love this.
After fives songs, my shirt drips persperation
So I remove it, to the many women’s ovation-
No waiting, I throw it in the crowd & keep goin’.
I keep flowing with this simple, but deep notion
That peeps know when you give everything..
Then the crowd blurs out and this scary ring-
Linger in my ear, but I keep spitting the track..
But then I get dizzy, and my vision is black
*The crowd is gone, and no sound exist, except Wicked’s voice*
Still seeing black, but, now, hearing no beat,
As the horrible realization grows deep...
My sight comes in & I’m back at the hall wall,
Rapping, but no longer hearing them all call.
Still dizzy, but to rap, I’m a slave, bruh,
Then my mic slowly turns into a wave brush.
Not gassed now, and my rap voice is past shouts
I’m dripping wet, & naked before I passed out.
I lye shaking on the floor, and the day streams.
Opiate; the hour of heaven in a daydream