Don't touch

I once new a monk
Who liked funk.
I'm a rocker,
Soul of rapper.

I wish you could get well.
This bruise will in time swell.
You wouldn't like the smell
Of the rotten limbs you once felt.

There's a storm on the inside,
But sun shines on the other side.
I swear it was me who said:
You don't need to be paid.