Harder To Breathe

It comes to be that im rash as fuck for people new to me..
So people seem to have to love cause they're human beings
I bleed actual blood, the same stuff you people bleed.
And I breathe two or three bags of dust.
Im gasping up, gassing up, an abusive sneeze bashed me up.
I used to plead guilty, now I blame and hold a massive grudge.
I melt when im speaking, my brains been there.
Everyone else has dealt with this feeling.
With me, its still there.
I will bare.
The mass of the pain, im bleeding and im still scared.
Im passive and intermediate when I still can.
There's a little chance.
That im a ill man.
The impact im embracing kills dread.
This rap that im making still stands.
Above most rappers that are "amazing" but are filth and -
Have no skill when I can just drill them.
Acing and training my skills again.
From basic to entertaining, a one-in-a-million.
A pen that traces rhymes and spaces to kill them.
To stand to end lives, our way to communicate with true death.
With true pain.
Built with a brute mood.
Brute is hate -
The mood's filth and a huge escape.
Cause my minds frame.
Is so big.
I'd go and die afraid then die sick.
Id rather go alive and embraced then die from a knife's grip.
Wipe my lip.
Dry my smile with the violence.

I dont mind but.
Its getting harder to see.
And as it seems, its getting fucking harder to breathe.
I started as an artist embarking on a army retreat.
But now I feel im a garnished martial artist with beats.
I speak.
Like im far from where people ask me to be.
Im in the ocean and they're on the other part of the sea.
Im with emotion, so dont start arguments that you cant even beat.
And if im open, then dont be surprised when I ask you to leave.
Cause in that moment, part of me will see you as art on the street.
When admittedly, im asking for sheep to follow my lead.