Book of Rhymes
... Yet, regardless, my object is my book of rhymes. ... Ive gone through years with this book, it contains all my raps. ... The book knows all about my sufferings, my internal pains, and the pages randomly changes on the inside while the outside world remains the same. ... My book was like life, clear white when new. ... It’s like every step I take, is another letter on the page, and the more I feel pain the more my book flamed enraged.