It’d be dope if the real ones out there got their flowers for their grind and talent, whenever that is.
Nothing but my life.
On the stage where authority performs as truth, only the silent scribe and the voiceless chorus preserve order.
All that is commonplace was once the lonely work of minds the world could not understand.
Yet another ovation for the theatre of borrowed convictions. If words alone could mend the world, silence would have no work left to do.