I realized something. The great poetry you been reading. Isn.t by me. But the me drugged up got stuff running through my circulatory system. That made me lyrically dangerous. But without it i got permanent writer block. The intention is still there and the beast in my writing that tears up the page wants out but i struggle without the key to unlocking it. This dnt even rhyme but its my poetic release. The poetry in my veins trying to get free. Cut my owns arms and break the chain snapping the leash. Take a pill and write to bleed.My Concentrated blood smeared on the sheets. And finally my poetic side is unleashed. But when my blood dries than the writing in me dies i feel complete.