Inking the beats

I think to ink,

the broken verses

off my mind.

It starts smooth,

no sooner are

they stopped behind.

A dissonance it is

confluence of the repressed.

Those feelings, emotions.

I try hard to speak,

not know what

subjects those notions.

Assistance is what I seek.

Attention is what it is called.

Fake faces, false hearts.

My dissonance still

remains unresolved.

Where would I go?

Who would I seek?

'None', my heart says,

'No wonder you are turning weak'!