Streams of Thought 8(Gift and a Curse).

Bloody rhymes,
my school bag leaves blood stain when I walk
notebooks with bars that reflects life, that I wrote
killing white papers from my prime, with a black pen as a knife, take notes

Bloody times
visions of living life, with black suit and ties
my school yard flags blood stains on the wall
fraternities don't care about your mums when they come

Kill you, your neighbor just to test a new gun
Last night I saw a man kill his son , he sold his weed to his mum
Police couldn't do nothing
Maybe he was above the law

Who am I to judge, ain't AV Dicey
Who should I love, ain't won a Grammy
just a freelanced writer with a herniated thought
They said life sucks, I relax and buck

Game don't have a place for a guy like me
I blow mics and notes, probably go ISIS
Lyricist only heard they don't know I exist
Am pissed off, like angels on a toilet seat

Past future thoughts, I don't give presents
Time don't teach it only gives lessons
When they love you too much they begin to hurt you
Correct you, like put that in the kitchen

Wont let you off a boat so you can walk on water
Won't encourage war for you to get honor
But I rise above that and see the goal
They stuck at the process, cant see it all

Aside dreams, of surviving on bowties
Lost the urge to fight so I gave up the last time
Dealing with writers block and inferior complexity
Flipping words sideways, lyrical dexterity

Original work of @lovestories