Poetry is a delicate form of expression it's art, you'll notice. 
requiring patience knowledge and wisdom from the start, so devoted 
many are called but few are chosen even less are noticed as poets 
but I was called and I was chosen, but unlike most I truly know this 
yes I know this dance of words and metaphors 
because I use them to convey my feelings all my peers seem to ignore 
therefore I write this all solely me it's not written for them 
with hopes that one day my prophecy may possibly Break Down The Walls that lie within 
that being said let me begin 
the past five years of my life have been agonizing to say the least 
this past Agony is continually stabbing me so very deep 
flash back to reality, shall this be, a failed attempt at rapping? how can this be? 
does that mean that my dream won't be happening?  is it shattering? 
is it because the fact I'm a fiend won't stop trapping me? 
 but I'm still battling these cruel and unusual strifes that keep fracturing 
Keep beating and battering, staggering my will until I barely have a thing 
the pain is so maddening, there is no thrill 
there's no way I'm imagining, I've had my fill 
I attempt to let go of the echo of my thoughts that are channeling but they still 
grasp tighter to my soul the hold is so saddening and it kills.
I'm panicking from trafficking while losing sleep so it's increasingly challenging 
when I'm tackling my psychopathic thoughts that seems so brutally baffling 
so what if I'm babbling but my sanity has been balancing on the edge of the scaffolding 
and this mental War I'm constantly battling brings dread 
so I'm abandoning the war because its best 
I feel a force of evil deep inside of me 
a force that brings upheaval the thought is frightening 
a noise or nightmare that's infinitely fighting me 
and this Fury I'm intimately enduring is surely igniting me
in truth I'm entirely exhausted my nerves are shot I've nearly lost it 
I have the mind-state of a prisoner better yet a hostage 
and it makes me feel so nauseous to know my soul is toxic 
but the feelings cannot show so instead they feel the flow in me like faucets 
so I'm on my guard and always cautious because I can't afford to be obnoxious 
when I'm constantly remaining conscious of my words because they're Colossus 
every bit of Truth you seek I speak I can never be thoughtless 
but even then in the end it would be a sin to be so pompous.