Busy times! I know I've said that like a million times.
Some days I feel like I do nill still steal a million rhymes.
From my mind! From wherever it does fetch these things! Sketchy thing,
Your mind is. Vexing still what a nexus it is in.

Citizen Cane when I'm old and gray, hold that day!
Hold that thought! For today I'm going over top!
Like a Black Op! Like Soulja Boy! Solder not!
Me inside my box! I got bars enough to know I'm locked!

On! In Bro just short of Stockholm!
Short-wielding in winter! You can't tame my fire!
Wanna breed some excellence; be one I admire!
Climb climb climb rise higher higher higher!

Rice crackers! They're like a drug, get that backwards!
Peddle through the backwoods! Rebel like I'm Action Bronson!
Could've taken a trip to North Wisconsin, but why would I?
Cause I like to travel and I'm a wood guy?

But not amidst these covid times, I'm sitting in!
Sipping on water instead of gin! Like I'm coked up: doing lines!
To the end of time I'll be doing fine! Long as I get out
In the wild like a human pine!

Read on...

1.4 microsieverts? Or millisieverts?
It can't be sieverts, can it? I'm just observing...
While they walk through these grounds like they're surfing.
The trees seem OK though, Red Forest green and verdant.

They say there's animal life but I can't see none.
The cloudscape gray suitable for some kind of demons.
The trees in Pripyet seem sort of withered and waned...
Like they grew up too fast, by the nuke blast, in pain.

You see the reactor, towering in the distance.
Buildings flake away while mother nature stakes her existence.
They walk around a ghost town with intermissions.
Tourists come a walking, like it's some exhibition!

They're all crazy to be there, but more so these dudes.
Who swam over a radioactive river to get into it.
Who knows how much of the stuff they touch sticks to their clothes?
Who knows how much their lives will shorten when they've been exposed?

Who knows if the water they drank had a lethal dose?
Who knows how dangerous the dust in the air when they cooked their oats?
The uncertainty's the thing that makes me feel like I need a breather,
And suddenly I'm pondering buying my own little dosimeter, cause who knows...

But props Shiey. This leap of Illegal Freedom sure is freeing but...
Also oh so frightening, for real...

Read on...

So now... it's another day when I stress...
I don't feel stressed right now why do I even say it?
It's like I tell myself beforehand I'll have bile when the day ends?
When still my work all piles and I have not the sense to nae delay it.

But I do. I can move through work for a week.
In just a day, if I just choose to and do verbally speak.
And do adversity seek. And do recurse for the weak.
And don't polish till I wear down whatever waddles to me.

Like a lobotomy's free, so is the lack of all challenge.
People with mental issues somehow all seem to seek such a balance.
When they have their whole day free and just leave it to malice.
To pick at their mind, pick it apart and leave tattered.

But to let my mind have it's course, that never mattered to me!
I'm a control freak! My mind is all my matter to me.
Just like we shouldn't with the government I will a never allow it to be.
Totally self-essential, it's detrimental I'd go mental!

And my mind all bleak. And my mind's eye all ditto.
Like AI, not programmed for a purpose, all too belittled.
What service it can do it may surface if we give it all,
The attention it needs to sputtle and pick up the brittle.

Petles of purpose is all, we need to bloom our flower.
Vacuumed our life of weak-minded wit for the cowards power.
For higher towers, where we can hide till the end of time.
I said I'd go places but I won't take THAT climb.

Oh no it's going down. I climb the Grounds.
Make Fulp proud. Make great rhyme. Waste my time.
Why play round, this life's a game I hate now,
I think I need... new stimuli...

To live a little not live a lie!

Fat of the land not thin skies.
I think a little thimble's insight!.
It shields you in life. It leaves you a vice.
What to do with it? I've glee for surprise.

It's in sight. This neon at night.
And I... don't know what I like.
Don't know why I like. Don't know.
Who am I? And why.

Read on...