This piece should be conceptions of a dream. So when I become victorious don't fake that you're on lean to lean when waterfalls steam from the eyes of stigmas of a conscious mind, you try to redeem. I seize to feast upon failure, selling your dreams in the back of a wine cellar. Getting drunk off the future. Leaned from the past and the multiple sutures. Illusory delusions held me back but I never back down through all the confusion. Aroma of opportunity transported from point A to point B infinite transfusion. The contusions on my heart, the wear down of my mentality, I see animations but I write reality. Words courageously contagious, illustrating illness massively bodacious. Famous from the words I speak rich from the words I spit, I'm expensive text skits with creative wages. My words are the 12gauge pump action. Spitting out a fraction of a word to see you crumble into a fraction leaving you with multiple fractures infusions of words and the way I dealt blood to show the amount of love I have for people who think they soaring doves. Had you mourning like a pug after a drunk night early slobber mornings.  But I see ya, thought you could lock me up, fake my death only for me to arrive to my funeral. My victory is never a placebo. Still think you can deliver us from Eva? I guess you thought you were high enough to beat me with that placebo reefa blow that only gave you a mental stigma that made you stand much like athletes with the foolish idea of a athletic wrist band. You hopped this year but leaped this year. Just to watch you sink from the milligrams of meanings of words from the quick sand back to sleep. Now open your eyes next Thursday and tell me what you see.