Quarrantine

all alone
all by myself
nobody around to talk
talking to myself
in this small room
sitting in my bed
facing towards the screen
as to spit my taste
to spit my infuriating anger
in the for of words
the swords
that hang around the neck
every time i think of myself my future
to end myself for the purpose
not yet revealed
so sealed under the mt Everest of my own world
and hearing my bodily victim scream
so loud that the air shivers and quivers around me
i know i'm not poetic
and i declare i'm not trying to rhyme
not a single time
in this quarantine
so focused on this j. dilla. sample
trying to make j Cole beat
wanna return to the wailers and Jamaican street
for the kit
the drums and the beat
given by cymatics lot of heat
lot of fire from the inner me
like a world to see
to feel
to be ill
to die
for the love
for the hip-hop
for the god
living inside me