This is deliberate practice.
And I’ll deliver it as it is.
Finna spill some blood might be a masochist.
A lone shark splashin’ my masterpiece.
Words flowin’ from me like I slashed a wrist.
Now don’t go’n think me a pessimist.
I’m worth gold and my master’s pleased.
The demon we know has confessed to this.
Told that mutt to go quit his barkin’ now he rests in peace.
Bury’n him low in the darkest depths abyss.
I find it funny how that fella’s missed.
Dig ‘im out once in awhile just to reminisce.
Then I throw him back in the furnace cos I’m hella pissed.
Usin’ only words don’t need hands to pitch.
Swear I’ll spit these verbs when I’m asked to preach.
No longer careless but conscious of disaster’s reach.
Make it mission my vision to be rid of this nemesis.
Dispellin’ notion spillin’ potions with the holy ghost my therapist.
He listens discerns no physical I won’t tell a priest.
Confessions blowin’ em up like a mystical terrorist.
Its mysterious how he deviates me from the devious like “there it is”.
Gonna lay ’em bare just like he did.
Won’t mask my tears, got the musketeers, the father son and the holy spirit.
A trinity, undivided unity.
Attuned to me, in my head this Will to be.
-Jon Lau 8 oct
ILLiteratepoet 