• Poetic justice is the substance the courses through my veins, it guides my hand to stain the page with the blood of the words I've slain. Grabbin letters from the air, and on paper they reappear, in the order of a rhyme mixer, word flipper, extraordinaire. I take my time to put these words in the order which they are listed, rockin steady with the beat from chest to my brain uncontested. til the end there will forever be the music inside my head, and to share my thoughts all I need is paper and pencil led