No matter what flower I am, or how tall I grow, my roots are in nothing but dirt. Still I'm standing and I keep on planting. Somehow I'm going to make this work. We're all here whether it's for or with each other, showing some degree of love to one another, but we take so much that it ruins the charm of giving. We disrespect ourselves and all the others that are living. Decimating music became such a manageable feat. I'll be standing in the ashes when the warmth depletes. Crush music and all of its majesty with just a little bit of swag to destroy sincerity? The din that is music obnoxious with temerity. Just a bit more clarity could unearth the verity of a scene's solidarity, augmented by popularity. It's what we're fed, we're bred by TV. There's too many flocking to it due to familiarity. We're taught all to achieve is monetary. So, we took sick and strange and made it regularity, just me and Fricktion upkeeping the polarity. I'm giving it my all, trying to resist gravity. It's time to cut me open and demystify my pulsing body, but I'm not ready-- hands shaking, eyes heavy. Evacuate the setting! There's something we're not getting! We're dying. We're losing it. We're crying. We're through with this. Now adults braving waters, leaving behind all that made us kids. I'm finding cause to raise ruckus over so many nuances. Some call it reckless, but I say intuitive. My head hangs low and I find it discouraging like a girl put down needs to find her voice again. It's just a story that set sail beyond the veil, but I couldn't bear to look at it, so I wrote it in braille. Reality is both blinding and binding. You can't unsacrifice ignorance in the presence of these findings, but I'm not new to this. It's also pulchritudinous like a fair girl with a name I made aquatic. Someone once told me things will start to look up, but when I do it my eyes are just burned by the sun. Still I don't look down, eyes straight ahead. I know falling to the ground puts me next to the dead. Sometimes memories are most, sometimes memories are least, but let not yourself be weighed by the deceased. Understand you have something to look forward to and if the future's not bright it's at least worth going through. I know you want to believe that these words are true, but whether you do is entirely on you. Keep your chin up, this is how life unfurls. Learn how it feels to expose your neck to the world.

And I know that life is yes; life is no.

It’s yes and it’s no. It ebbs and it flows. You’ll never guess where it goes till the sec that it rolls around your way. Don’t let a day slip by. That’s why I grip my pen 24/7. ‘Cause I’m not tryna sit around and hope for heaven. 'Cause I’ma get nothin’ listenin’ to a reverend. Huffin’ and puffin’. instead of stuffin’ everything into a black and white frame, think ‘bout what you might gain. If you can see, the world’s not as simple as you thought it’d be. It oughta be plain to see it changes quicker than you’re taught to see, quicker than the change of blood that’s flowin’ through your arteries, a constant odyssey always comin’ at you with oddities. But alot of these aren’t comin’ at you on a straight and narrow path. Probably comin’ at you with some good as well as some bad. At times I’ve wanted to believe I’m being guided by a hand, but I’ve come to understand that there’s nearly nothin’ planned. But I keep steppin’ with my mind as my only weapon for defendin’ my self, my sanity, my fam, my brethren. So, I dropped steel in exchange for graphite and wood 'cause this lead has done more than a sharpened tip could. So, I’m on my toes, because I know that what would seem dead wrong to me might be another man’s good. Our common sense might be nonsense in your neighborhood and I’m damn sure they’re ain’t no real definition of ‘should.’ But I do what’s in my power just to deal with all the stresses. Take it all in stride because each mess is a lesson. I’ve never been on the end of a loaded Smith & Wesson, but I know I’ve seen my fair share of life’s no’s and yes’s. Just when you find your pathway, that’s when it bends. I could be halfway or a fraction from the end, but we’ve only got this finite time here to spend. You want life’s answer? It’s yes and no, my friend.

In the key of nostalgia, it's hard to let go of the past and the future frightens. So, sometimes you want to make it last. But I (w)rapped this gift for you. Please don't waste my present. It's all I could do. I hope you got what I meant. The message was sent; the care was sincere. I'm trying to reach you while you're still here. Though perhaps in bed, wishing you were dead in the darkness where all of that led. We're just as much here as you want to disappear. That you can't join us is a lie I don't want to hear. Can you hear me when I breathe heavily? It's me, C.DeL, trying to tell you something: In all I've made, I played the matcher. All I create reflects my stature, passes on myself, So, I couldn't be happier that the face I wear belongs to a dream-catcher, a life-chaser, a story-maker, a standing and breathing pain-embracer. Let's sing this song. I don't care if you can sing. This is about a hope that we need to bring to the lives we live when we're just trying to kick it and every conscious minute that I know I spend in it. It's a fight we have to fight and when I lay down tonight, it doesn't matter if I did it right-- just that I did it. I won't shape others' troubles into hooks and stick them in my feet or leave a piece of myself in the coffins that I see. Though existing is daunting, as memories are haunting. At the end of the day, do I have nothing? Or is there a line I could dare to tear so I could possess what I claim is there? And should I let myself worry that the rest will shatter? No. I do what I do because none of that matters.