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Apply pressure. Repeat. Stop the bleeding, just to keep you alive for you to have to relive it. No other focus, have you noticed? I’m not into the games that you used to run to keep me running back…to you, running it back like a song that hurts, on repeat. So, we apply pressure, since shit is so sweet. I needed to see you hyped up over him, to let my cocky do what it do. You stood confused when I held you there, while you stand all day in still frames, acting like a Muse to something new; and I amuse you, but been way over your head more than a few times, knowing still, I’m never going to be what you’re used to. So, apply pressure, for every word I’d write, and you’d spit a hundred, with no care given to the price gouging of what held true value and worth; I have my words, written, spit in conversations on various lands of this Earth. You think you’re hurt? I will apply pressure, and never let up. Not even as you’re laying up next to him, knowing I’m doing all I said I’d do, knowing I’m incomparable, since you probably never wanted to truly compare verses; knowing these lines aren’t something that I’ve chosen. I’m just going to apply pressure, and let you remember it when he’s between your thighs, wishing you had me tonight. Wishing you had your friend who stood for you and always fed you soul food and real insight.
On God.
