The Prodigal Son

Was it me who created this monstrosity? I added oil to the flames of my animosity! Practically calling out this hypocrisy, the way I spit these poems you’d think philosophy was in my genetics like I’m a distant relative to Socrates!

 

 

 

Lets Hit It! First do you hear those drums? Model citizens with fucking razors resting between their teeth and above their gums, I feel like a fiend combining funds, I spit and run, people figured I’d have faded by now, but how could I? When I’ve got a lot to say, life is a play, save the drama for Act Two, this is Act one, the evolution of the Prodigal Son

 

 

 

Can you Feel the Flow? The fluidity, I fear that each line has its own original identity. I used to dream of going to on a big vacation, poor so forget it, thought about horseback riding  instead of the Caribbean but the closest thing I got was watching pornos with sybians. Don’t say anything, but I’m beginning to sharpen, be fearful and disheartened because my body is weak but my mind is a Spartan

 

 

 

Do you feel the Anger? I spoke in Tongues, people still say Jr. King is a fucking bum, First it was direct publishing, now I’m flourishing after I mugged the industry, some people question my ability after they question my history, I answer in story and in mystery, I want to show you what Glory means to me. Your dealing with a poetic virtuoso, so much rage that I spit evil, this was the moment when I didn’t feel well, this wasn’t the life that I wanted, this felt like hell.

 

 Hating all these motherfuckers would leave me looking gaunt, the past and the present are liable to haunt, my body hurts, my brains swirling, I say I vomit creativity but now I’m really hurling! I thought in my mind about hanging myself…

 

Just so everyone can piss on my identity, if I did that my work would only mean something to me, I had so  many doors to go through but I lost my key, I digressed into a abyss, everyone hates me so fuck this…

 

They put my urn on the top shelf, not a Quran or a religious symbol, there was just no where else. My mom wept, but she grabbed the urn to overcome the fear, looked inside and there was nothing there…

 

 

 

Killing myself fuck that, and I’m still breathing, I’m alive, I am seething  but I cant Die!

 

I’m believing in my pen, in my work, that I will beat them , I wont Let Go!

 

But I’m still bleeding, I was still bleeding, It hurt to see that I may never be who I wanted to be, but it took so long to see that I’m already more then I ever fucking thought I could be…

 

 

 

I’ll Keep breathing, the light is lungs, I still hear the drums, The stress weighs a ton, but I’m strong, its time to right all the wrongs, stay where I belong, I’m a King, I’m the One, I’m the Prodigal Son

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