When my inspiration stopped loving me
These powerful words stopped hugging me
To not see the future of this poem, call it quits and just go home
That what Iím dealing just ainít reeling the right tone,
The chaotic rhythm of the Jídyism that roams, have been singled and made lone the escapeeís thrown into the nearest prison, eyes glisten theyíll be something Iím missing
When the white silent walls speak louder then me when I call for yaíll
My finger nails bleeding, pain exceeding dragging myself along, edging up your front lawn,
The sun falls, the skyís dawn.
When Iím down on my kneeís begging slamming each hand against your front door
When you refuse to speak to me forever more
Because I canít deliver the show you all crave for..
When I just canít do itÖ
When I canít foresee the next line in time Iím meant to rhyme,
The church tower clock chimeís past nine, followed by the horn of a 4by4
When their here and thatís my call, to be taken by satan to hellís core
Squashed and crumpled broken on these firey floors smoked
Struggling not huggling when Iím choking
Itís the murder I wrote
The one Iíve been long hoping, but then I was only joking maybe now Iím still just poking my plea
When my inspiration stopped loving me