looking down at your feet
the worlds fucked up and you're feelin tha heat
i got no solution no quick resolution
a new year a new lost girl a new tear
the meaning is seeming a little out of reach
and i've told myself a million times i would teach..
myself to get out these self appointed depressions
told myself i'd break free of these mental opressions
but it's two steps ahead and five back
i got these regrets weighing heavy on my back
-dev
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Dying Art
The art gallery of choice slowly closes exhibits, bare walls echo with a once vibrant creativity
a creativity of a revolutionary sort, with figures and leaders leering in odd ways and drawn with big noses
plenty young adults as they are called would make their way down to the museum to express their frustration some sexual but mostly political
its hard to wake up to a world that has grown more effective and less happy every single day
a small crowd did form of course, outside the museum there was a sunny courtyard with oak benches
birds chirped and trees swayed, the chants were simple but pained
they were nothing to the world but a dull throbbing of the tooth
a momentary lapse of annoyance, and then gone forever.
buried underneath the easy to get drugs on the black market.
I popped pill a and counted my hours until pill b, after 2 o clock i was kicking on the inside of self induced tomb
the crowd eventually trickled away like a small river that fights urban expansion
muddy boots and mcdonald cups soak up any form of life that dares oppose
nowadays in the back alleys we pass mary jane wrapped in poetry
and whisper sweet things in a lovers ear
beauty survived in that form
I walked home from school today.
crossing the bridge I feel the harsh wind
and I know this is the closest to god i've ever been
and will ever get.
because the sting on my face is the closest i've ever been to the real
oh the real that I chase
HEY
a man catches my attention
he stands on a mound of snow and yells ART IS DYING
and of course from around the corner
mona lisa stumbles towards me with a slit throat
she collapses in a mound right in front of me
with shaky hands I turn her over
and watch those eyes slowly close
the snow turning blood red and I’m thinking..
finally some color in my life
..right?!
I have a machine that will wash and dry my dishes
But my father and I
We don’t hug
It’s this thing.
But we can catch up real good over lunch at earls.
You see..nevermind
Just that..it’s this thing
Makes me wonder, what is strength really?
Is it my ability to raise large amount of weight above my head?
Or is it the ability to blink through the tears?
Pretend it doesn’t hurt?
A series of questions as you slowly back out the room.
-Dev
a creativity of a revolutionary sort, with figures and leaders leering in odd ways and drawn with big noses
plenty young adults as they are called would make their way down to the museum to express their frustration some sexual but mostly political
its hard to wake up to a world that has grown more effective and less happy every single day
a small crowd did form of course, outside the museum there was a sunny courtyard with oak benches
birds chirped and trees swayed, the chants were simple but pained
they were nothing to the world but a dull throbbing of the tooth
a momentary lapse of annoyance, and then gone forever.
buried underneath the easy to get drugs on the black market.
I popped pill a and counted my hours until pill b, after 2 o clock i was kicking on the inside of self induced tomb
the crowd eventually trickled away like a small river that fights urban expansion
muddy boots and mcdonald cups soak up any form of life that dares oppose
nowadays in the back alleys we pass mary jane wrapped in poetry
and whisper sweet things in a lovers ear
beauty survived in that form
I walked home from school today.
crossing the bridge I feel the harsh wind
and I know this is the closest to god i've ever been
and will ever get.
because the sting on my face is the closest i've ever been to the real
oh the real that I chase
HEY
a man catches my attention
he stands on a mound of snow and yells ART IS DYING
and of course from around the corner
mona lisa stumbles towards me with a slit throat
she collapses in a mound right in front of me
with shaky hands I turn her over
and watch those eyes slowly close
the snow turning blood red and I’m thinking..
finally some color in my life
..right?!
I have a machine that will wash and dry my dishes
But my father and I
We don’t hug
It’s this thing.
But we can catch up real good over lunch at earls.
You see..nevermind
Just that..it’s this thing
Makes me wonder, what is strength really?
Is it my ability to raise large amount of weight above my head?
Or is it the ability to blink through the tears?
Pretend it doesn’t hurt?
A series of questions as you slowly back out the room.
-Dev
Hip Hop 6 Playlist
All finished up my 6th Hip Hop playlist on youtube. It's been awhile since my first! You can find my on youtube by following this link
Monday, February 10, 2014
From The Vault Vol 5
if you could give yourself advice what would it be?
the art gallery of choice slowly closes exhibits, bare walls echo with a once vibrant creativity.
a creativity of a revolutionary sort, with figures and leaders leering in odd ways and drawn with big noses
plenty young adults as they are called would make their way down to the museum to express their frustration
some sexual but mostly political
its hard to wake up to a world that has grown more effective and less happy every single day
i now have a machine that cleans my dishes, but my mom is addicted to crack
if you can wrap your head around that. then i can move on
a small crowd did form of course, outside the museum there was a sunny courtyard with oak benches
birds chirped and trees swayed, the chants were simple but pained
the were nothing to the world but a dull throbbing of the tooth
a momentary lapse of annoyance, and then gone forever.
buried underneath the easy to get drugs on the black market.
i popped pill a and counted my hours until b, after 2 o clock i was kicking
basically flying and watching an event of entirely humorous proportions
they eventually trickled away like a small river that fights urban expansion
muddy boots and mcdonald cups soak up any form of life that dares oppose
it did rain that night, i walked home and soaked myself
my pill haze broke, and thoughts of the poor artists who lost their exhibit came back to my mind
i had no answer, and even with an answer, what of it?
too much thinking, my door was opened by a machine and on the t.v two blond girls kiss passionately
hey, not everything in life is artificial
the art gallery of choice slowly closes exhibits, bare walls echo with a once vibrant creativity.
a creativity of a revolutionary sort, with figures and leaders leering in odd ways and drawn with big noses
plenty young adults as they are called would make their way down to the museum to express their frustration
some sexual but mostly political
its hard to wake up to a world that has grown more effective and less happy every single day
i now have a machine that cleans my dishes, but my mom is addicted to crack
if you can wrap your head around that. then i can move on
a small crowd did form of course, outside the museum there was a sunny courtyard with oak benches
birds chirped and trees swayed, the chants were simple but pained
the were nothing to the world but a dull throbbing of the tooth
a momentary lapse of annoyance, and then gone forever.
buried underneath the easy to get drugs on the black market.
i popped pill a and counted my hours until b, after 2 o clock i was kicking
basically flying and watching an event of entirely humorous proportions
they eventually trickled away like a small river that fights urban expansion
muddy boots and mcdonald cups soak up any form of life that dares oppose
it did rain that night, i walked home and soaked myself
my pill haze broke, and thoughts of the poor artists who lost their exhibit came back to my mind
i had no answer, and even with an answer, what of it?
too much thinking, my door was opened by a machine and on the t.v two blond girls kiss passionately
hey, not everything in life is artificial
Sunday, February 9, 2014
Thursday, February 6, 2014
Saturday, February 1, 2014
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