Sorrows of mack

I dont know where to start appologising. Before my last poem, I was ladden with depression-- musical depression. I thot I broke free of it's hold but it re-inforced itself and attacked me again. I'm so sorry i kept you, my favorites in all the world, out of the loop.

I'm at that point where the tugging is so immense to head into music, and I'm like a dog with its tail between its legs as I speak. I'm over-flowing with musical concepts; concepts that are out there but not as we know it. They're different in their own light. I call it R&J (rythm & Jazz). But it's a fussion of most of the music genres into one, with the great lyrics, my lyrics. I, at this point believe I can come up with anything I want and I like feel I have a limitless potential. But why this feeling all of a sudden, all so logical, and make so much sense?

Something is being born in me. I don't know what it is. But I think I have to go to Music School to find out. For the first time in my life I smell stardom, it stinks. But it's the ideas in my head that pertub me at the moment. Should I just let them die, and rip the world of another masterpiece? I feel humbled that these ideas sought by kings plague me. But what am I to do?

I can already hear my father's voice in my head, telling me of how much I failed him. He wants a doctor. He wants to walk around with his head held high, and tell the world that his son is THE DOCTOR. I'm sorry father for I flawed the logic you created, I wont become a medical doctor. But I will do something greater. I will heal the world with my words, one soul at a time.

My parents and their siblings will think I'm crazy. I'm going to need nerves of steel to withstand their logic. But I wish someone could hear my voice... I'm not out to stun the world, that was Michael Jackson's job lol. I just want to heal a heart with these gifts; these gifts that fascinate me, that drive me, that make me, me.

I border on obsession at this time. Only one thing makes sense--

I love you all. I need advice, and if you can, point me in the right direction. I need it.

The Art Of Moving On

At thy eyes, in bewilderment I gaze,
Reminding my mind the merits of sanity,
As amidst thy hearts many colors, I stand amazed.

My life's journey sealed by Time's timed calibre
My journal is empty, but my time far spent,
Beholding in daze, a cat at another, purr.

In fascination I savor this moment
With ardent oblivion of the day preceeding
Yet saving my favorite rose, and kissing her frozen.

Is there a world beyond her?
Like bugs to flame, I'm drawn to wonder.

Thinkers block

"His palms are sweaty
Knees weak arms are ready
There's vomit on his sweater already
Mom's spaghetti-- he's nervous
But on the surface he looks calm and ready
To drop bombs, but he keeps on forgetting
What he wrote down
The whole crowd goes so loud
He opens his mouth but the words won't come out
He's choking wow, but everybody's choking now
Clocks run out, time's up, over...."

--Marshal Mathers

This is the haze I'm in. There's something I have to tell the world, but
it's unexplainable.... and my pen is my worst enemy.