“I start to think, and then I sink into the paper, like I was ink…” –Rakim
Fill the pen with blood
and pump ink through my veins.
Through fatigued eyes,
a mind looks out
in a brain that begs
for sleep.
Blowing of a cold breeze
pierces the skin,
embraces the spirit,
while the welcomed rain
chills the body
and frees the mind.
When will I dance again
in the roaring sounds
of a thunder storm?
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