::09:12:08::

::: Face Times Face :::

He told me that I was pretty good
That maybe I should ghost write
but I was like
I'm standing right here
What am I ghost like
Probably due to the fact
that he sees me as ghost white
but that theory carries no substance
as if it was ghost lite
the battle between principalities
and spirits
makes me a weapon in this ghost fight
and then I thought,
maybe its cuz I got sheets
on my head
but I ain't going nowhere
This aint' return of the dead
Its like what my pastor says
Man doesn't invent anything
but rather is given revelation
on something God decided to bring
into Existence
For Instance
My metaphors are materializing
Manufacturing clear to your eyes
I mean that I'm Visine
grabbing your attention
not a single eye drops
I'm sprinkling down eye contact
our eyes lock
Identically seeing
what our minds thought
but there is a difference
between that and what we want to believe
ghost writers write for ghost rappers
who for the most part
now ghost breathe
and it scary how good I am
I'm becoming so Ghostly
out on my own limb
so call me a ghost tree
if you can see through my written sheets
you can see what a ghost see
but this is my arts and crafts
I got people flat lining
like I'm starching cats
Summoning Annointedness
Is its own to join
It decides to coin
This Term A Dime,
A Thousand Dozen, Mouthin that sweet
Mother muffin, puffing,
With Sweet water running down the
the steep throats of Georgians
We being pulled apart like accordions
The Good lord he’s in
The small things such as the Dot on I
or the thought on my
Tip of my tongue, The bit that is sung
The wit that is flung
From one whip of my lung
As it clung to the drum
in your earlobe
Mother said there will be days like this
but didn't say a word about months

Written by: ~ Rolex Booths