okp, i'm working on the lp, aptly titled "the underscore"...and this is one of the many dozens of verses that didn't make the cut...critique

got kids i was blessed to see
the rest deceased
past laid to rest with me
the message beeps
no developments
arrested speech
count sheep
nah, i don't even invest in sleep
not even a wink
death just caressed his feet
as i run blocks
gettin full on infested freaks
and these biters like mosquitoes
that injested deet
they blow trees
sip on this texas tea
hypes compile their greatest hits
like a best of me
hate mail
addressed to me
i see no less than three
a week
address the beef
so threats'll cease
never, on mute
or the deaf could speak
please
i'll move ya chest piece
ain't talkin bout a pawn
leave you gaspin for air
ain't talkin bout a yawn
run up on you with the weapons
ain't talkin bout a con
and ain't worried bout jail
so i ain't talkin bout a bond
that's double oh eight beyond
years to come
blocks is hot
like they nearest the sun
and they can't walk away
so the fear is the run
when it comes to an end
so they hope it's a marathon
and they sprint
from the starting blocks
straight to the ticker tape
of their own garden plot
see me
i'd rather starve and rot
and throw jabs
waitin for the people guard to drop
i know
they'd rather see me
barred and locked
or stretched out, sketched out
scarred and chalked
you'll die hard
waitin on ours to stop
lord gave me the thumbs up
we waitin on cars to stop