With the Cheshire Grin



Momma…(or…Ay, ay, ay, ay)

Ay, Momma, I’m stuck in drama

The trauma dun made me dumber

This mind is steady in flutter

Flummoxin like a motherfucker

Dyin inside…

Chokin on the blood inside…

I guess that must be why

I’m failing when it comes to tryin

No more whining with the “why, why, why”s

The real is just the picture

The picture is just a fixture

I angle the fixture with liquor

Adding it to the scripture

Fleshing it out with pictures

Padding it, make it thicker

It’s a neverending cycle

And I’m sharing it in flickers

Tryin to fill in the fissures

Ay, momma, I ain’t feelin like a victor


Try as I might, I can’t stop this pain

I even close my eyes looking for strength

Mind over mind, trying to force a change

Feeling empty, cold, alone, and late

Nothing is worth it, a wasteful weight

Music is a kiss, darkness is a blanket

Drinks and drugs to feel faded

Distractions from the depression laid in


I speak vision, I don’t care if you don’t listen

These letters, I make em glisten

Master of the lines, guess I’m fishing

Speakin words, pushin blizzards

Something of a wizard

Speakin wit some scissors

Razor sharp wit the sentence

No longer wanting repentance

Acceptance of this penance

The writer, the actor, multiple roles in credits



writin from the red hidden in the wrist, yes

be that depressed blessed

suicide wanna press

takin all the breath from the chest

just to stand up like the rest

just to walk like the best

blottin out lines, call life a bullshit test

wit the haema flex

latin wit the text that the world possess

feelin possessed

ever sence i suckled breasts

i’on’t know if that’s correct

this is finger movin, call it foreplay and sex

movin wit a different kinda speed some mistake for less

this the first, the last, the middle , precursor, and next


Shaking, twisting, flexing

No time for resting

Wobbly from speech to texting

Destroying the self, I’m my own worst foe

All the weaknesses? I know

Living to annihilate the competition

A breakdown of composition is the mission

Rebuild in tension, never never testing

Sleeping wit eight lessons

Illiterate to warning signs

Like one is inclined to be blind

Yeah, that type

I know, right

Messages turn to piled messes

Messes turn to burning blessins

Blessins turn to anagrammed messages

A ludicrous cycle of reuse

Knowledge in the fool

Foolish with the truth

Madman floating in the blackened pool

*sigh* (or, Don’t Ask)

A monster manic in madness

Thinkin I think in static

Drunk, still drinkin on the brink

Cozy, introspectively nosy in a deep seat

No floating with goats, preposted to the wall of crows

Screaming woes perform in flows, but what do you know?

Life is rife with strife, don’t live without a knife

Or two or four or eight, it’s just right given the light

Dances in the rain hide the pain

Yet, strain improves the train for gains

Madness loves a monster manic

Dangerous changes birth from panic

Preposterous improvements manifest from scars

Bizarre flaws cross thresholds to be stars

Deep in the chest away from the rest

No flex, away from stress to analyze my less

Piqued interest to critique my inner me

Manic in my madness, what monster will I see?


Fuck you and fuck your “blasphemies”

I’m beyond your fuckin balconies

Stains inside your glass is me

Strength from the anxiety

Frowning wit a smile at society

Artistic wit with liar’s honesty

Feeling like the weakest strongest me

Is all I can be

Is all I can see

It takes all I got not to scream

It takes all I got just to try to breathe

Talk about strength, some days I view as it weak

Talk about lost, most nights I view that’s me


Deep drifting within The Float

I’m writing things I should not know

Demons think I’m spouting hope

Angels’ labeled me as foe

My cursive is spoken in flows

These theories are stepping on toes

Impetuous quote unquote oracle

I classify myself as unimportant

Misguided abused annoyed orphan

Attitude can be mordant

The third eye is 42 over 8 distorted

I know that I am abhorrent

I’ll never be the greatest nor a legend

I think my thinking is wretched

My method is, “Question Lessons”

Writers are eternal, leaving impressions

It’s a justifiable sentence for sentences

FUCK THE WORLD, this is my vengeance for giving me depression

This devotion to letters and theory is borderline obsession


Larger than a physical presence 

Self is a writer, fighter, rioter

Focus on darkening the brighter

Staring into nothing, everything is something 

Changing, burning, building, synapses be erupting

Pushing, moving, changing, motivation is the cutting

Everything is shifting

There’s beauty in wilting

Without madness, artistry is missing

Think about it, dying is living

A passionate arsonist of the narrative 

Keeping captive the chaotic wonder of the inner kid

Conscious constant resting on the ceiling in the twist

Be wary when speaking to the monster bubbling under the lid

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