Space of the prism has been Wrecked Uppercase blVc
And contrary to what some might think / we’re all lonely and disgusting test subjects just trying to find time to sleep/ trying to find room to think/
getting tired of believing in anything/ Yo, tax my breath, I’ll just hold it in/
Now scratching out my thoughts in their entirety/ How much stress you got? / gotta’ find an outlet not some vacation luxury suite with the Jacuzzi and full mini bar/ I’m talking a spot hidden away from society decaying/ and mind you this is mine/ it’s getting
repetitious without any speculation of why it’s happening/ doesn't seem like we are learning from our mistakes does it?/ Does it even bother you?/
putting all our baggage on public display/ and everyone obtaining little tidbits of
information but still no one knows shit about how to be the pilot/
like you’re on final boarding to the flight to nowhere and You’re the pilot, no I’m the pilot wrote this with a pilot, you get my drift/ like it ain't a coincidence captain going down with the spacecraft as the band puts on a record and abandons ship/

Are the Shards retractable/ cut tracks in pieces with/ Like slicing samples/ why it reads like a mangled dis-assembly manual/ heating the metal til you can’t hold the fucking handle/ either fold bend in half or stand up to let this music be the back bone/
needing a back brace to stand up straight and begin marching/
No this is archery, the millisecond for the feather fletching to pass the bow hand/
and you think of all the effort it took to shape the arrowhead out of the stones cast in the direction of the personal reflection this is/ became separation from all/
that’s relative/ instead deftly steps in the direction of antagonists destruction/
not just discussing it in public to feel underestimated/ probably is over-appreciated/
a depreciating artifact collection restarting every eleven seconds/ excessive amount of venom in every stinger/ bringer of dissent,
represent self that’s it/
all you have is the present to let ferment/ nothing’s permanent it’s just one
melo-dramatic event spinning towards catastrophic/ where all you got is friends/ some are fucking fraudulent /I’m over that/ motor mouths who get the job done like economic growth gloats of the most gross pop up centerfold for the dopest Morse codes/
microphone to unload off the chest like a broken collarbone/
ninja move checkmate style/ in a secret missile silo of my hip-hop dementia/
it’s all in where your heads at/ baffling as it seems/