Chronic Depression

Just something I made up at university. This is my first one so yeah.

Introducing first; the number one contender
Reactions slurred by the stirring of the Bartender
From the ghetto, his name is Alexander
And his opponent, from the area of obsessing
Heavyweight Champion of the world Chronic Depression

Now the time for trash-talk is over
He’s gotta straighten this shit out before it’s all over red rover
He’s picking at the grass looking for that four leafed clover
Isnt that ironic how it also applies to his state of health
He’s wrestled with this shit, but it’s come
Now the grabbing, he lifted him up and slammed it down; a thunderous suplex
But he’s unsteady and cannot fathom that equilibrium,
theres always a fucking shade of grey; a paper duplex
He’ll spill his heart and emotions out on a piece of paper
But she won’t accept it, so he’d get his chainsaw and turn all his shit into sawdust vapor
His motherfucking heart is dichotomised, don’t even bother trying to use superglue, he’ll vilify his neighbor
He’s fucking grappling with his emotions, theyre swinging like a pendulum, nowhere to stop
It’s a swing from side to side but it’s also as shaky as a seesaw , he cannot find that straight line
He’s fucking grappling, playing a primitive game of mercy
The shit will straighten out if he screams “mercy”
But that word Is not in his dictionary
His hands are trembling, he’s yelping out in pain, hes conquered
But now the words are engraved
Permanently in the middle of his sweaty forehead.
He’ll never forget the embarrassment; get the meds
and maybe Morse code God’s angel to tranquilize him by decree
And inject him with fiery ember that used to be everything he stood for
But now they’re inscribed on a cave wall and part of bush folklore
He hasn’t given up
the referees called ropebreak, giddy the fuck up.

Oh it looks like depressions winning; he’s got him in the piledriver
And already, they’re taking his measurements, for his premature casket
All the haters out there just wanna put the nail in it,
after piling it up with cement, like the dagger though the heart, it’s a perfect fit
But Just make sure you engrave on the words on his tombstone,
That cortes never walked the cold streets alone
but he was just too fucked up and stagnant to realize that his family and friends
love him, they were his panacea, they’d look out for him; but on the weekends
he’ll isolate himself and argue it’s for solitary reasons
but after the fast-forward of the heavy seasons
winter struck down, he was hibernating, but fucked up coz he was still cold
Now he forget that the game was over and done with; they all fold
And the bullshit hands he was dealt with; a seven and a four
He’s drifting out to sea on his burial dingy and everyone else was left ashore
They lit up an arrow and tried to fire it at him, for a burial at sea
but no, he was just frozen in the freezer
but the frozenness still ages him as time goes by, he’s now an old geezer
He’s gone looney with the tunes, a symphony in his head
Ahh Shit what the fuck is happening.
Oh it’s a near fall

Now it’s a submission hold, we think he’s gonna tap out
He’s in a chickenwing, maybe he can choke him out
His lungs airless, head bloodless, stomach gutless and now it’s a guttural shout
Does this signal the end of the bout
No way he’s a stalwart, he’s try and maneuver a reverse of his life, its tough and its getting even tougher
But those shopping bags under his eyes are getting even rougher
He’s getting premature wrinkles resembling the structure of the shopping trolley
The alcoholism and sleepless nights are turning him into a dolley
Those bags are filled with tequila and vodka, he shouldn’t do it, but lucky for him those bags are breakable
His eyes are fucking salt mixers, its fucking shakable
You’ll shake it and the shit will only trickle out
It’ll take time and practice to get rid of these motherfucking demons
These walls are closing in on him and the demons are forming fucking legions
Suffocating him, he’s forgetting everything, he’d tried to counter the submission
but now the keys out of ignition
and he’s on a quarter of a fucking tank.

Once again, the ref calls ropebreak
His body is convulsively contorting like a slithery snake
He’s always managed to get his way out of shit
But he was groggy, it’s crunch time, make it or break it
He stood nose to nose with his demons
and remembered that saying by his favorite rapper, Eminem
“Elevate your middle finger and let it linger”
It applied perfectly to this situation, but he thought he might add
to extend his ring finger and slip on the crown kinger,
Coz now he’s married to the devil, he’s not an advocate
They’ve both spoken their vowels of undying love for each other
He must’ve forgot the words of his mother
“Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t”
just remember the devil finds work for idle hands to do, so he won’t
fuck everything and ask for a divorce
Coz the devil will run circles around you like a fucking racecourse
Now everything comes crashing down, its tremor-inducing
His personal affliction has sucked the life out of him through the seducing
of his feeble mind. And now he’s down and out, a knockout
the crowd around the ring begin to chant and shout
His eyes are misty,
And the ref counts, one, two, three.


http://www.rapbattles.com/forum/show...741/index.html

http://www.rapbattles.com/forum/show...618/index.html

http://www.rapbattles.com/forum/show...741/index.html

http://www.rapbattles.com/forum/show...618/index.html

thirty eight views and not one piece of feedback. is it that bad? lol

I think it has to do with the length of it... It's a man wrestling with life right? The words you use, make it seem more like a rant... Than a flow that runs together like a river... Though the Perception of it was on point, it was misguided on what was said... It's like... reading brail, when the words are written... know what I'm saying?

wrestling with depression, kind of about myself here so thats why i ranted.

lol it was kinda long, but thats alright. anyway man, some of your bars were stretched.
"Those bags are filled with tequila and vodka, he shouldn’t do it, but lucky for him those bags are breakable
His eyes are fucking salt mixers, its fucking shakable "
work on your syllable structure, try to match them up because that will make your flow a lot better. for instance, "His lungs airless, head bloodless, stomach gutless and now it’s a guttural shout
Does this signal the end of the bout"
you went from a long line to a small 8 word line. that kinda throws off the flow. other than that, good substance in it. i would just work on the rhyming and structure. okay overall.

and if you wanna rtf on my piece, http://www.rapbattles.com/forum/show...631/index.html

anyway, keep writing man.

oh and i nearly forgot.
what is this, rhyming the same word?
"He’s fucking grappling, playing a primitive game of mercy
The shit will straighten out if he screams “mercy” "

yeah...that's not gonna get you far. try expanding vocab in this case.
dont get discouraged, just keep at it.

Thanks dude, I really appreciate it, and i'll read yours too. Its just that this is my first piece and when I gave it to people (people who have no clue about writing this stuff) theyre like its awesome and shit...to be honest i didnt think of flow and rhyme scheme, but yeah i just couldnt find suitable words that rhymed with mercy.

Subject: Alexander. Location: Bar? Status: Drunk Antagonist: Chronic Depression.

Um... after reading that... you got good stuff going on, bad stuff going on.

The bad stuff is... ...ok let me put it this way. Disjointed flows and rhyme schemes work. They do. But... not in this case.

This is a challenge, and it's a favorite challenge of mine. Or at least it will be. Try to rewrite this in the form of an English sonnet. Not familiar? Here is link!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sonnet

You might be wondering why I'm asking you to do this. Well, because you asked me to read your work. You call down the thunder, now reap the whimper.

The idea is a number of things. First, a sonnet is a "legitimate" form of poetry. By that, I mean, people can not argue that it is not art. Everyone is forced to appreciate it as art.

Second idea is to utilize the format to rethink the way you write. You'll be forced into creativity you never knew you had, by restraining yourself in ways you never knew you could.

Third... I like it. I like stealing lines from other rappers. I like wrestling. I like pieces about depression. And I like lots of rhymes.

What I don't like is what constitutes a lack of focus. Focus on one thing. Everything else must relate to it. Now... in your piece it does. But I don't know if that's me relating everything to depression, or you. I need to know it was you, first. (Though accidental art is still art nonetheless.)

Yes, everything relates to depression, premature caskets, tequila and vodka, married to the devil, burial at sea, bullshit hands dealt to you, cannot find that equilibrium inside of you and the wrestling is about depression of course, but i didnt want it to be filled with wrestling jargon so i changed it a bit.

Thank you.

Well, dammit, I like wrestling jargon.

play with your words then. it doesnt have to be an exact word to rhyme with "mercy"; you can use two words. for instance, "mercy" and "her see" but like if you cant come up with rhymes for mercy, use a different word that WILL rhyme. thats what i meant. like you could've replaced 'mercy' with something like 'amnesty' and things rhyme with that. but dont worry man, just keep writing. its decent for a beginning piece.