Butcher, Cut, Slice, Rend

Every time I believe my creativity to be at it’s end

I take my mind to the brink

Like insanity’s best friend

I sink deep in thoughts

Of what vibrations I send

And any excuses to be weak

I butcher, I cut, I slice and I rend

Cuz excuses are like nuts

In the balls of puberty

Every day in any way they want to bust

No patience like grit your teeth

Better yet, breathe

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