Off Urban Rap

I’m not drunk, maybe besotted, maundering, inebriate savant but ne’er vapid.
I’m loquacious, beset on periphrasis, riddled with circumlocution, and bullets from the execution.
A scribbler of belletristic prose, with a dent on my nose. I’m a fallen saint. I’m like peeling paint.
You wanna paint me over and over again.
Trouble on your mind, sweetly unkind, tiny little truffles melting in the corners of your mind.
Did I say truffles, I mean trifles. I’m getting pulled for a speeding profile,
writing while intoxicated – can’t type straight, but my thirst is sated.
Is this what you want, in your checkered restaurant – serving up Hume and Descartes
with a side of Kant.
Knit wit, purl two – back to bed, pillow filled with glue for my sodden head…
never took a sip, but I drank too much, not a drop of booze – on this Double Dutch Bus.
I’m perfectly sober – I said it over and over, but you keep painting me and you won’t have another. Because I’m easy to see, but you’re hard on me, the more you see through, it’s your own reflection,
I’m invisible to you.
I’m not hear for dating, or mental masturbating, it’s just self-medication, it’s life we’re debating.
Don’t get so berated, drink my words, get sedated – be a friend, kiss a friend, it’s not overrated.
Philosophize, look in my eyes – close your thighs, I’m not like other guys – it’s gnats and flies.
I can empathize – looking into your eyes I see, you understand, I’ll go drinking…
sand pouring through your thirsty hands.