Im new to this forum, so I just thought I'd drop sumtin I wrote a while a go and get feedback from the writers on here on how to improve. it has no title, or even a main subject, but anyway...
Even though his raps are weak, he decides to stand and speak/
with lyrics that are all a thousand fathoms deep/
with lucid and vivid screaming, in this music he lives it dreaming/
his life is so shit, so it's used to give it meaning/
His pen hit's the paper, an intimate explosion/
an intricate emotion, raps with infinite devotion/
he had wits from the start, and always spits from the heart/
and if he can't write, he just sits in the dark/
until the fuse it lit, and although it's quick to ignite it burns slow/
it burns and it burns and roars inside like an inferno/
and then he scribbles frantically, just like a demon that's caged/
seething with rage, with such emotion his heart could bleed on the page/
The momentous, relentless, repentance of a sentence/
for him, it's a dependance, and he finds ease in the acceptance/
that without this pen, it would just rage internally/
feeling more pain than a million people in an infirmary/
so even though these are scribbles, it's a textual release/
they may even be incomprehensible, but there his sensual speech/
it has become habitual, to him it's a ritual/
and it can't be described, the effect it has on the individual/
so he'll be doing it forever, like damnation in time/
he's finally found his solace, it's his salvation in rhyme/
so he'll always squeeze a pen, and would bleed for his rhymes/
and if you ever doubt his love for it, just take his page and read between the lines/
Thanks for reading
and I'll always return the feed