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Poem

I slip my headphones on, and I begin dreaming,
my desk is my alter, and the Heavens is what I'm seeing.
My pen is the bridge, and this paper is the gate,
writer's block is the pad lock, the only thing in the way.

I click open my pen, and begin to release from within,
my blood runs as deep the ink, and washes away my sins.
My thoughts are the cross, and my burdens act like a wreath.
Razor sharp thorns cut me, as I'm trying to catch my breath.

My enemies are the whips, hitting me in the back,
tying me down with chains, just to get a little laugh.
My lyrics are my message, what got me here in the first place.
My mind is my shovel, digging the hole to bury my scarred face.

Then the beat stops, and I wake up from my trance,
I hit replay and try again, I only got one chance.
I'm giving it my all, but at least I'll always know one thing,
I'm Irreplaceable.


The track starts again, and I slip back into my sleep.
My pen is my gun and the paper is my enemies.
Writers block is my holding cell, and the key is my mind,
my mind is the problem, because it locks itself up all the time.

The beat is my pulse, slowing down before it drops,
then picking up the pace, while adrenaline does it's job.
My words are the bullets, penetrating your skin,
your body is still intact, but you're shattered within.

The lead is the streets, giving me countless ways to go,
the eraser gives me the ability, to never leave my home.
Every word is a stray bullet, it'll connect it won't.
My enemies are my targets, I either hit 'em or I don't.

But I'll keep shooting, until this lead goes dull,
I'm giving it my all, but at least I'll always know one thing,
I'm Irreplaceable.

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