44 lines

You’re a byproduct of a dying medium,

Trading your dignity for digital tedium.

I don’t just rhyme words, I realign the spine of your narrative,

Until the blood in your pen is the only thing that’s comparative

You claim you’re a Star, but you’re lacking Gravity to pull weight,

Your Orbit is forced, you’re just circling a full plate!

I’m Mercury, the liquid metal rising in the glass structure,

A Mars attack to puncture the crust of your mass culture.

You’re Pluto: cold, distant, and stripped of your status,

I’ll Jupiter (Jew-be-tear) your fabric apart with a mental apparatus

I’m a Sun (Son) to the Father, but the Light (Lyte) is the Holy Ghost,

I float the most noted quotes from the ivory coast to the starry host!

It’s Quantum Physics—I’m simultaneously here and gone,

The DNA of a deity bleeding ink on a levee dawn.

I rearrange the atoms of patterns until the matter shatters,

A mad hatter with a ladder climbing through the astral strata

I’m the architect of arctic etchings, partin the heavens with garnished weapons,

A startling presence carving the essence of bottled lightnin in hollow sections.

My inner vision is a precision collision of fission and superstition

I condition the composition to imprison your intuition

by climbing the ladder, showing my timing is badder,

I’m priming the bladder to shower the crowd with the power of rhymin staccatos!

I’ve mastered the tactic, the fast and galactic, the math is erratic,

I’m blasting the static through chassis of plastic and fabric

It’s velocity multiplied by atrocity, honestly, I’m a monstrosity

dominating the prophecy with animosity

a monstrous conqueror, consciously stomping the prompter,

A bomb launcher, honestly bombing the pond with a monster.

The macabre author, my logic is clobbering copper,

I’m properly offering offerings locking the locker!

It’s the middle of little Italy, critically killing the lyricist,

Physically pivoting, hitting 'em bitterly with the pyrotechnics

But let’s address the Chess moves—I’m Board (Bored) with the Game,

You’re a Pawn in the Pawn Shop, selling your name!

I’m the King on the Square, but the Knight is the Nightmare,

A Rook (Look) at the Bishop, I’m moving through light air!

You Checkmate your Check, but the Mate is a traitor,

I’ll re-draw the Map (Checkered) like a calculated creator

I’m a biochemical miracle, lyrically spherical,

Steering the vessel through levels of clinical orbitals.

The elemental alignment is drilling through physical confinement,

A technical assignment of criminal refinement!

I rearrange the valence of atoms in patterns of matter,

With shattered fragments of shrapnel that clatter and batter