VENT

The lyrics are all mine.
The image was generated using Leonardo.ai.
The voice and music were generated using Suno.com.

Find my entire book of rap here:
https://www.amazon.com.au/Sales-Pitch-Matthew-Vandenberg/dp/1685830749

Here are the original posts, from 2016:
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/17s3BZntoL/

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VENT

Let your breaths take shape/
Let me get in that space/
You're a tentative date; tentatively taking place after place,
like a fair on a Wednesday/
I love your sensitivity; weak days/

I endeavor to obsess all over your breath like you're coming,
in being plausibly caught up in whatever you said,
and, um, whatever you said/
I'm your butterfly. I'll flap my wings 'til I'm spent, like I'm cash on life insurance and you're holding your breath. Please don't. I need air/
In life alone, and a life spent on your own, there's a point when a fetish develops; a full-blown developed development zone where you'll find a climb's inspirational; vent/
Any vent shaped like an escalator, or an escalation of discontent, is not necessary but can be worthy of respect/
Here in India it should be the wealthy and healthy peoples' air that gets shared/
Breathing comes with a heartbeat; a snare/
You can come to that; share/
Your breath is the reason for a butterfly effect/
And your wings are your underwear/
Don't hold back, in winking, as you give me a stare/
Take a deep breath, like off, like you're a plane; a bigger butterfly; gleefully more loose than others on the flat plains under where you're tearing through air/
Nuts are hard like shells women have been known to come out of even if they fell/
Did you catch that? Some breath makes me melt, so I'm a slippery slope when I'm dark and you can't tell/
Breathe out, squeal and pant, be real and rant, and tell me why you don't care/
Consumption of what's peanuts, which we both see as only bags of air, can be just as dirty, coz I'm not allergic to you, so I'll pick them up in your breaths/
Seasoning is sweat, so if peanuts are wet, and a bar's set low, with peanuts on this bench, which is right where you needed to go bad, after your fingers interrupted a flow of water that was seemingly rehashed, I'll smell whatever, so not necessarily sweat, if you finger any of my air/
But work out well. That will work out well/
Your breath is like the seeds of a spell; which is wet or dry; of coughing of peeps around you, who are like a deep well; a deep swell in well-met shells of air, to touch upon, and as such lunch is a touch on you, and I love your musing coz it's touching too, and love word salad when salad's on your breath like soup, as you're warming up like condoms being used, and if you're into fruit then tomato soup, and use tomatoes like Spaniards, but consume them too, and reuse them too, if they're juice/
Don't clean your tooth or freshen your breath if you want proof I can still get wet when you're out of breath/
Not that this is consumption. The only assumption is a rise in little deaths/

Let your breaths take shape/
Let me get in that space/
You're a tentative date; tentatively taking place after place,
like a fair on a Wednesday/
I love your sensitivity; weak days/