Drops of Ink

​If I keep it simple and remain simply fine/ I’m not drips of water or the ripply lines/ I’m the drops of ink ripped into rhymes/ a scroll of script they can’t define/ what makes me tick, flip, or wind/ I ponder while wishing I could merely sip my wine/ as the grains in an hour glass keep shifting time/ I slowly filter words to sift my mind/ in gaping wounds to leave the rift behind/ but clawing myself I lose my grip at times/ so I’m only dope when I hit a line/ and that’s what puts lift in mine/ being that high I still slip sometimes/ when what’s in my head n on my lip combine/ it’s that slow motion moment I lit the twine/ my words explode as if I trip a mine/ n if I could just make the tips align/ I still wouldn’t be able to skip the grind/ no I could never quit the bind/ the world on my shoulders, still a chip on mine/ because I found my way without shit for signs/ I mean I lost myself without shit to find/ so tongue-in-cheek I’ve rarely bit on mine/ if I’m forbidden fruit they barely get the rind/ can’t taste it when I spit my mind/ as if everyone’s left their wit behind/ n I’m a fucking liar if I admit it’s fine/ cuz in the core I still get a pit in mine/ knowing pieces of shit get peace of mind/ I only want to be lonely with my kind/ so I keep running myself as if inclined/ because I will not hit this cliff confined/ my words are the wings that lift my mind.

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