My Shackles
shackels, chains, and an iron ball force me to remain.
it's self inflicted pain. a pain that has me detained.
i can't escape this dungeon. or any of it's bricks walls.
freedom tries to call. but when i try to climb i fall and then crawl.
it's ironic that the harmony i once loved, now causes this tention.
mention anything having to do with poetry and i lose all other attention.
Some times i start to feel clostaphobic, the ground beneath me starts to collapse
i try to hold myself steady but the space continues to tighten till i relapse
i feel suffocated, can't even breath unless i let some of these pounding thoughts leave.
this is a life filled with grief. when i get any slight relief. it's brief. then i fall again like an autom leaf
i thought that hip hop was an angel. a blessing that would give relaxation but instead it's only a thief.
taking from me all my time of day, making any important part of my life become grim and grey.
so rap demands my intelligent ideas. if i don't obey, then in this dark cold dungeon is where my mind will stay
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