Vox Obscura by Blackbird Belle

I arrived on the 9th, a couple months shy of ‘86,
Another E.T. freed up from the mothership,
A younger brother, the prodigal boy wonder -
It’s hypnotic what the topic of time can tear asunder.
I never laid down, so I can posit this,
the oddest kid on every playground, should fucking bottle this.
I went from pop rocks, to high tops, to drop dead anonymous -
But now my name and success, seem synonymous.
And it's a process, wishing that the plot’ll twist -
Filling up a bottle of pills to save your consciousness.
Yet I’m blessed with impressive dictation,
My obsession is an oeuvre that elicits elation.
Acclaim is infinite - I’m winning the nominations.
In this equation there’s no medals for participation.
I got no equal, so call your best debater -
Bear witness, I’m the greatest operator in the station.

I need a second to chill,
I’ve got an ill prognosis,
Diagnosed with the flow apotheosis,
I’m crushing foes like the shadows of colossus -
I owed it to myself to compose a dope opus.
So I, titrate it and concoct the doses,
By concentrating the flows through osmosis.
I’m always writing for the lost and hopeless -
and those paranoid androids labelled precocious. Now I’m...
Back in focus, trying to live track a broadcast,
I never set a track record for bombast,
And every track on my record’s for contrast -
The Cheshire grin’s dawning on the maw of this bobcat.
Look, I just really wanna rattle your brain,
And gain acclaim like a valedictorian’s grades.
It’s auditory - my story’s got a glorious aim -
You oughta fade from view like you’re Dorian Gray.

I am the virtuosity -
I'm up on top of the cloud crop,
Unstoppable, propping up a prophecy,
I'm spitting gold while y'all still talk in copper - please,
I’m King Kong, fucking toppling your properties.
So void the broadcast, chorus in the hippocampus,
Loose lipped, sinking ships till they reach Atlantis,
Four tons, like a forked tongue mecha-mantis,
I'm Rick Moranis, shrinking planets till they fucking vanish.
Shit - I don't think I'm still in Kansas,
Technicolored chemtrails crashin' on the canvas,
I'm locking eyes with a luminous enchantress,
The golden goddess gazes, as the odyssey advances.
A cast glance, a lance through gushing arteries,
I feel her artistry in every fucking part of me.
A final chance, one last grasp, extraordinary -
Sword drawn, cut the orbit and the cord it carries...

There you have it, on the record wreaking havoc,
Man, I'm back in the booth with these bad habits.
Emphatic, kid the cadence is quadratic -
Each emission that I spit is amassed as mathematic.
For the sake of the masses -
I'm taking your breath like asthmatics, or Vader when his grasp is,
Fully contracted, chokin’ off your pneumatics.
There’s no rabbit in a hat - this is actual magic.
In fact, there’s cloaked cursive immersed in these verses,
I’m outta sight like the curvature of Earth is.
A lone revenant... I cast curses,
Spit a hex, and direct it at your person.
So call the hearse, cause he's killing it lately,
Straight leaving these neuroses pushing up daisies.
Still I’m accosted, the currency of grief and loss is,
Fucking exhaustive, with no regard for what the cost is…

"I'll tell you stories bruised and blue, of drum machines and landslides."

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