Lyrical Ire (Night Fight)
Newness like heat rising off a body. Breeds news best like words fresh off the copy. Sprint too much just to slow down. Got too much up in the air just to go down. Looks like locks live on in livers with Lilliputian divers to love. Can't get higher that the higher powers that are above; Believe me, I've tried. I've bled. I've scratched. I've lied. Can't seem to trust the trustful nature that I imbibe, imbue, derive, divide, or reply. Maybe the grain of salt is really trapped in my eye. Pain from the single blood tear that drops; the only tear I cry. Enough with the realism. I lock lips with a greater symbolism. Manipulation and derision can't seem to get me out of my current position but they do make for playful fun of other things that I have done and left undone. Dive into the spiritual just to perform a ritual of self sacrifice. More like sacrificing someone else's idea of myself. Because let's be honest I can play any hand which I'm dealt. Delayed reaction to whatever I did is felt. I can't go on without help and yet some how these limbs go on by themselves. It hurts to think of something else that's worth more than what I've squandered heavy handedly bartered. Discarded and felt that I've moved backwards now that I've retarded. There is no reward for drifting aimlessly through the stars or drifting on purpose because we are trying to get lost in the night. I love right on the pherifery of sight and with this I am alright. With this I delight. Yet I feel that even this is not alright. Even this is not a way for me to move forward from that night. Oh I can pick it up and leave, but that is just moving and I don't run from a fight. I dint run from the night.