Picture This

Posed in perfect posture,

These polaroids depict

A puddle of problems, with politicians 

Playing paparazzi

Packing the pallet, with that apocalyptic logic

So the premise for your population,

Is looking polio: disconfigurated.

In Hell's kitchen your residue

Is on every apron,

And they want this thing forever,

They'll try to figure eight it.

Or Wayne, West, Eminem, and Drake it,

An epic fail felt on a bigger richter scale 

Than the Haitians.

Remove glasses, encounters become emphatic

No facade featured when adorned 

With these linked jaspers,

See now I see into you.

The soul of you actors, and true mannerisms

When the hands cease laughter.

Pity, I'm placed in positions

To speak upon the perils of the people,

It ain't pleasing to keep peeping at evil.

My pupils haven't seen peace since my last dreams,

Seems paper's the only vessel to bring 

Them up a level.

Yes, blessed are the lone soldier's lectures,

Preach, without the tendencies of most reverends,

Neat, times three when piecing it together.

I'm handy with the phalanges,

Reach in fannie packs to grab another scalpel,

This requires anesthetics

For what's outward.

Distractions are undoubtedly 

Dimmers of prowess.

I was proud of the pennies awarded father,

But if they take the Soul out of De La,

It's not the same Oscar.

By Devin Hardin