Why don't you ever pay attention to the ongoing traffic surrounding you?
Racing the clock.
Running the red won't be all you will be doing for.
I can see you with your window rolled down, on your cell phone.
Calling anyone else who you think on the road a mile away from you, just to ask when are you going to meet me at the Jones's house?
As you make a turn onto the main road, you wipe away tears of sweat and you say I'm not there yet.
Next you hug your breasts up closely to the wheel and ask yourself how far can it get to heaven?
You think you can race the lightning bolt in my fingers bringing up the culture shock.
You think of me non- stop, hanging songs I used to write.
Take picks of me when I'm on foot, and send them through your via email to yourself, a few thousand times before you get back in your car, turn around and return to your home.
You print them out, center align them across the wall, just alongside the infamous stories about my Essex.
It drives you crazy deep inside to see my name; my face everywhere, there's nothing you can do about it.
While you weaze ; stumblingly fidgeting through your drawers for a smoke, because you know that it's over.
There's no way you can marry a true hyman with youthfulness, great looks, personality, and a bank head that match mine.
You keep dreaming about a bank roll full of hundred dollar bills, it's not easy to remember how to steal.
All you got to do is return to your best friends; see what they can do for you.
Instead you call the ones you wish I were lesser than and ask how can I get to my accounts, give me all of his pay stubs, and valid identity in every form.
Then when you see me on the corner you have to say, I know plenty of dudes like you anywhere, give me; give me; give me; give me; give me dick.
Because I am home all alone, you know I don't do to well all on my own.
Why you always telling everyone you've been with every boy like me, going on to say that you've sexed me all night long?
Boy bye; don't freeze in fear, and try to change it now just when the fire levers are turned up to five.
You ain't never seen me with in the nude, it's always been censored below the waist, are you waist deep in your pride, that we couldn't be more than peers years ago.
Now you want me to move under you and in your concrete basement of your homies duplex.
You get to pull me down, from being my best me, and yet you over obsessing about the way I spread my legs taking it all in on film, don't know why you act like it's on Paramount network, and you telling everyone all about.
You go round round round everywhere pretending to rock the boat, in more than thirty different explicit ways.
Tell me what's the difference between you and a girl, with you both lying about these things, and not knowing how to hit first bass?
It's getting kinda quiet around here, now that I found out you're hungry for me to cave in to suicide.
Praying on it; waiting for the moment of a call, for my momma to call with a crack in her voice while she cries with tears of joy, in her emotions to a praise report that I finally gave my life up.
I know you daydream about my very end.
Coming to terms to love me more far away, anywhere but home.
I know you think you've got it all together, the plan to watch me die on the scene, impatient to rush the process for the boyish predator that thinks it's a man child to claim my soul, but it'll have to rock away hard , pass away fast, fast until it's deceased sub come to mortality cut short by poverty of rejoicing my everflow, everglow, evergreen torch; fires to blaze either out of life, or out of control, so you can one way or another obsess that I still belong to a shooting star beyond your measurements, and just under your neck.
I know you are so obsessed over what I do annually.
What fortune is in the works for me.
Who I am related to,and what is black supremacy.
When you want to return to white supremacy.
What my nationality is or is not.
How I can survive all the hate of every class around my own since early two thousand.
Why I don't ever have a girl or boy to give myself unto.
You actually would think that I should have to mind, but sometimes it's better to be detached from the soil, that commonly made Black and White solid intricate creatures exposed to the our inhabitors the holy reaper.
Occupying the time obsessing over the number of hair follicles on our heads, no matter what you want to believe, you cannot overobsses about my height, urine frequency, color, tone in my voice, what I gain pleasure or pain within, painting photorealistic paradigms of you chasing youthful people left and right to try to seduce us with a small fries and lies, you cannot make me feel full of obsession for your own, because I don't want to be obsessed, getting caught up in you is to emotional draining, a mental stretch, I don't need one to see you become overly obsessed with the way my skin is dark complected, like cocoa cola , and rich of Ivory black sand, for the rooted times you've tested me of fire, I didn't need to turn gold, or paved of precious and rare gemstones, not even clothed in the finest linens to see you are only rich with the worrying about if I died by an accident and packed up my dreams and departed out to heaven.
It's worth your greatest digest to see yourself failing inside, just to fall through the wooden floor of a sturdy house, is my only four father's way in not just to be swallowed to being lured overly obsessed, but curious to know if I can take a mental note, before a coffee break to see if I can fully decipher the number one public enemy, that grew overly obsessed with my blood to divide us all, and stand tall off of waving me, and my name around, like a wizards waund.
Just in case you get wet I won't be washed away at seas, but I am curious about if I am obsessed with the cognizant consciousness if I can deploy the contract and the hit out on my life, do you think maybe you can divorce that last line.
You rearrange repetitiously with your forehand all of them; the photos of the opposing skeleton crew that you wish can take me out of the sky, and into the palm of your hand, like a pocket knife, ready to use on the dream assassin nextdoor.
I usually am the same way, as at the same time, working my faith; turning the pages of our lives back and forth exorcising the wrong company that is contradictory , and perpendicular to all of my vision within.
A little more respect; freedom; a life free of you.
No more crawling in danger, with tears that blind me;draw me farfetched away from reality and back to you.
I don't think I can be like you anymore, rearranging all the colorful photos, like false memories you try to hide from your superior when asked what is going on with you; while we're on the subject how long has it gone on?
Then you have to run, making up characters making up myths , and playing mind games making false evidence appearing real, to control the favor of the world abound to flow to you.
I'm not the one who is obsessed.
Why should I even be stressed?
I've already been distressed, and in my denial a little more blessed.
I know I don't have to be like you, because I am not of your blood and bones, even after all I've done; after all I've become you still wondering to whom I belong, from whence I've came, It's totally extremely clear and understandable, why you can't see past a precious gem, a rare diamond, more precious than me.
I hear about girls like you falling into fatal attractions, shaving away all your hair if you can't get things to come your way.
Then whenever a man feels he has to brass you, you want to drag him through litigations and false accusations in front of a judge.
You don't treat people like you're above them all your life, and think you can inherit the keys to the world.
I won't strive to submit to brutality.
I won't let you think I should personally place all my value in potential so invisible.
When I prosper or take a undeserving bullet for you, nobody cares to praise me, but when people give you power to rule, you think I should be obsessed over you, and carry the weight of your husband, you, and your three kids in my home, oh no!
I'm already paying my dues being imprison, doing things for free and now I'm telling you, I don't need to be the one with tears in my eyes, you can't afford me, now I realize it's why you're pondering on what wages to pay your family, when you're the one that should be paying me, for my sweat equity.
The way to freedom is not free.
The way to heaven requires your patience and self soul salvation.
Stop shedding blood and scattering bones, the only one that should be obsessed over my Halo is the one that can count the wattage, just until it catches fire ; blows out of fuse, and then has to find a new one.

Authorship by Mr Dashaun Rashod
©Mr. Dashaun Rashod Snipes

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