Order, Order!
Badgering.
Overruled.
Let the Future generations question, without being incarcerated.
Overruled.
// poetry
My art is surgery
Making an incision
Filling it with truthful color
Crystalline meticulous fusion.
Concepts in my grip,
The energies find me in time,
They all work for the Creator
It's the Father who helps me rhyme.
I'm empty sometimes,
Not to the brim with rhymes,
I don't know what you think of me,
I'm anxious and grim many a times.
An independent army of warriors,
My wife and I,
Going for the surgical killing
The awareness of a fly.
No, I don't get high,
No cheat codes for the flip.
If psychedelics were the key to creation,
Everyone successful would be drugged-hip.
No alcohol, no drugs
Finding the stately being inside,
No coffee, No tea
In pure water do I abide.
Alterations to the mind,
Not the most profound thought,
The world offers you cheat codes
In a monstrosity of psychosis has you caught.
Choose life & sobriety
Through the travail & strife,
I'm swimming in deep spiritual waters
Floating like a wood-handled artistic knife.
The knife cuts deep
It penetrates through egos,
They say, his knife goes places
He confuses us with where he goes.
Your (dis)honor, no offense to be taken,
Justice you have long forsaken,
If used rightly, the artistic knife,
Can have many a corrupt men taken.
