rap-rave, hard-hitting club rap with

Limb leans. Fruit hangs. Bruised little shine. I craft whether you cry or you laugh on the line. Words like a raft. Stitch. Slither. Snake. I am the apple upon the tree—the temptation of me.
I hang where the branches bend, bright in the shade, Sweet little sin with a bite in the blade. Tongue full of venom but the rhythm tastes clean, Every syllable slides through the ribs unseen. I make grief grin, make a joke feel tragic, Turn a cracked little phrase to a sleight-of-hand magic. Thread thought through thought till the knot gets tighter, Spark in the dark, then I teach it to be brighter.

I’m the whisper saying “take it” when your judgment says wait, The weight on the hinge when you’re testing your fate. Every word got a door and a room tucked behind it, Every truth got a lie standing close to remind it.

Coil in the cadence, hitch in the chest, Bite leaves a fingerprint nobody guessed. I stitch laugh to sob like a seam in the dark, Leave a lantern, then hide it, then strike a new spark.

Craft. Cut. Catch. Release. Sweet on the tongue, then the aftertaste thief. Raft of a sentence that won’t let you float, Snake in the vowel, apple in the throat.