More abstract lyricism. I made this in about 30 minutes.

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I’m a machine, thoughts heavy like a truckload of Al Rokers.
Remaining focused as I Hocus Pocus my competition into oblivion.
Have them wishing they couldn’t see me then maybe oblivion wouldn’t be so imminent,
But then again, that imminence is inevitable.
I’m a source reputable—reputable source, and of course
My mental stores make me a force to be reckoned with.
Look what my grammar lessons did. Transformed a mere mortal
Into a lyrical linguist, master of English rendering cyborgs obsolete.
Package complete, complete package painting vivid graphics
With just a portion of my tongue’s tip. Words? None slip.
They don’t stop like a period, they FLOW like a period. PERIOD!
Pyramids crumble under the weight of my mind state.
My rhyme rate swells my brain cells like creatine monohydrate.
My high state is natural, naturally high.
Don’t be asking me why or how you can be matching me…Why?
Cause I’m a machine.

I’m a machine; a terminator on the rise. My eyes conceal my inner steel
But still reveal an Alpha Male mentality. Reality sets in. All bets in.
Futuristic linguistics, call me a Jetson. My vocal tones sonic boom like a jet, son.
Want some? Come get some. No sweat, son, high tech one.
My verses, dissect one and watch your thoughts ignite.
I incite your insight, flows skintight like a Shemar Moore shirt,
So tight that I hurt. I lurk, laying low on the back burner,
Secretly seducing similes and mentally molesting metaphors.
I’ve never met a force that I couldn’t overcome.
Never overdone ‘cause my style is rare; stripped down to the bare essentials.
My mentals emit signals, high tech Morse codes.
I force foes to face facts and take back preexisting notions of my poetic kinetics
(Poetry in motion). Mechanical, methodic, robotic…like a machine.

I’m a machine, circuits turbo boosted and fully loaded.
Sugar-coated and stuffed with explosives.
No motives for causing hypnotic psychosis without notice.
I’m focused. My Intel splits cells like meiosis.
Fully functional with armor-piercing lyrical projectiles,
I left wrecked piles of empty brain matter, remains scattered in cerebral landfills.
My hands heal extreme cases of unawareness.
I swear this. If you heard half of my word craft
Your brain would overload and your thoughts would explode
Making you a carbon-based mound of babbling incoherence.
So step with caution or you’ll be lost when just a portion of my thoughts surface.
And you’ll be rendered wordless from my word fest.
My third best is STILL light years beyond what you’re accustomed to.


So I choose to give you only pieces of data so you can remain intact.
In fact, everything you just heard has been simplified
Just a broken link in my thought chain. I’m part sane,
But sick with my wordplays, even on my worst days
At my blurred pace, light speed is too slow,
So I sit in darkness waiting for light to catch up.
Heads can’t quite match up to the way I display an array of verbal flurries
That strikes your dome like steroid-injected lightning!
The right thing to do is just concede and let your ears bleed
Each time you listen to my speech…Just let my vocal bleach
Remove your mental stains….And let the machine take over.
Game Over!
© 2008 T. Austin (DarkPoet)