Sadly, I have yet to receive any feedback regarding the hub I was planning to post, so this will take its place for now. I have about seventy pages or so of poetry/flows/mini stories/nonsense. Here is a taste of those seventy pages.

I shivered as the winter wind let out another momentous sigh, I asked questions, he told lies. I smiled as I wondered why, neither of us looking into the other's eyes. He kept his eyes on the ground, I was looking towards the sky. "Has it come to this?" I thought as the seconds passed by. The grains of time kept on falling, landing where they would. I'd reverse the process if only I could. No point in sitting there to simply brood, each brother from another mother doing what he thinks he should. Trying to figure out a way to piece it back together before it's all gone for good. Well what's one to do? When you've got nobody real to turn to? I don't know anymore and was wondering if you do? If so, please tell me; let me walk a mile in your shoes. And maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to pull through. Seems like everybody out there is doing some soul searching, everybody "hurting", but nobody's actually learning. This yearning that's burning for something they can't describe. Silly wishes and hopeless dreams, both feet nailed to the floor, still they want to sore, want to fly. The sporadic chatter stops as a car zooms by. "So how do you think this is going to end my childhood friend?" "Who knows?" he goes on and on, not knowing himself and it shows. Like anybody else, he wants it all. He wants to jump and never fall, wants to kick it but never calls, wants to run but can't even manage to crawl. A whole lot of "wants" but a butt always gets in the way.

When it comes to my writing, hate conquers love.

So ironically, I dedicate this to you, the one I'm thinking of.

The hate just escalates at a rate with no limits.

So my lyric loaded mouth can go on infinite.

And for the record, anyway you come at me I'll be able to spin it on you.

180 degrees, so everybody will be nodding to my rhytmn and your blues.

I'll smash you in anyways I choose, my lines so catchy how could anybody refuse?

Bitch, I explode with a bigger bang than dynamite and I've got a shorter fuse.

So quit messing with me cause I'm as hot as fire.

Get too close and I'll revoke your license to breathe, make your ass retire.

This is a true story, I'm not only trying to offend her,

But when she was delivered, her own mother tried to return to sender.

Writing to my heart’s content.

To express all the joy and lament,

Of being yourself and being pretend.

From sweet beginnings to bitter ends.

Leaving behind old and making new friends.

Living in the now and not the then.

The lyrical material I spit is an epidemic.

The shit you spit is veneral, a failure perfected.

The epitomes os epiphanies that come out of my mouth make you hectic.

Make your eyes teary, throat dry but still you respect it.

My words as expected leave you a total wreck you didn't expect it.

On your knees looking up at me, this image just as predicted.

I leave you afflicted, my bite leaves you infected and your body restricted.

Posers try to mimic my style but can't even produce a gimmick.

After a verbal beating, self proclaimed wild childs turn timid.

I know why you left.

Don't know why you stay.

I know there's nothing left.

Don't know why I stay.

Pray for the day where I say

ENOUGH! No more can I take.

Bent to broken and now forsaken.

The fault, this time, is mine alone.

Have no home, nowhere to go.

I really wish I wasn't on my own.

Nobody calls and nobody writes.

I'm all wrong in need of some right.

So I write tonight so that I might

Fight off the dark as to survive the light.

I try and I try but the future aint looking bright.

I lied, I don't try, mine a wasted life.

Mourn me not, tears I do not deserve.

A man is not a man if he has lost his nerve.

I such a case, completely lost, I feel nothing.

You lie...

You heart breaker.

You soul shaker.

You scar maker.

You, my very own undertaker.

Is this some sort of jest?

Not sure my dearest.

Just a flick of the wrist.

And out came this.

From the depths of my chest.

Like some sort of random test.

In which all you can do is guess.

Close your eyes and hope for the best.

Take it all in, in an attempt to fill that emptiness.

Give it all away and get some rest.

He asked me to spit hot fire.

I told him I had not the desire.

He looked me in the eye and called me a liar.

I told him to hold his tongue because to dance with me, he lacked the attire.

He told me to slow it down because he was a lover not a fighter.

Still, he paid no attention to me and made all sorts of flyers.

He played the role perfectly of town crier.

I wasn't a clutch player and I was being put on the spot.

He told me to lace the tracks with lava but what I was spittin wasn't even hot.

I didn't even ask for it, but blew my solitary shot.

After that day, it was official, I had become a robot.

Living a no life, just going through the motions.

Even then my mediocrity was anything but potent.

Even the poor wouldn't accept my two cents.

I was going out of my mind, sanity could no longer pay rent.

Pee.Ess.

HATE HUBPAGES WORD FORMATTING.

It took me like 25 minutes just to fix the line sequences.

Apparently, when you try to edit a hub, it automatically double spaces a portion of whatever you wrote for whatever reason.

This time, the reason being to piss me the hell off.

Dubbayouteeeff? ANGER/RAGE