What’s a death sentence
Unless you killed
A prior in a period
Or in time in this instance
I let the mechanical
Finger the grips
The clack isn’t shot
It pin points the accuracy of what I spit
Get it together
Gather around
When you do
You’ll wonder how fire starts
And how I stick myself to me then you
Blow up
Just to ensure feelings are scattered
Mark the path
The treachery is often bombarded
Shrapnel is felt then discarded
In a corner wondering
How they communicate
Despite the fake that illuminates
They hide, pondering
If their happy is in the past or in the present date
I bet their sleep is awake
Like the moon has shine
But the other side has that shade

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No need to get my mental status cold stressin