A Warning to Myself

I’m pushing words

Your peddling letters

Whether it’s the introspective degenerate

Or the outspoken illiterate

All I know is I’m searching for my large professor

I’m trying to be known as one hell of a storyteller

Because I’m not selling crack, 
don’t got a wicked jump shot

But I damn sure can exhale these tales
 to take me to the top

Look at the positives and not the fails

And to all those fair-weather friends

I might turn the cheek

But let it be known your lack of loyalty disgust me

 I wish you well

Take head the warning

Its either a hot pine box or a cold cement cell

Drop that shit now, those pills are your free ticket to hell

Its not the getting high part, It’s the lengths you go to get that spark

That’s the difference, the solution is the simplest

Yet hardest to touch,

So we bypass certain roads and then we start to spiral

Its viral, it’s an infection, I tried to warn you

Too Late, on to the next patient