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bleeding painting - prolyphic lyrics

[intro]
“you say these really mean things sometimes”
“look i am who i am liz, it’s all me, it’s all part of me even the ugliness is apart of me”

[verse 1]
don’t hate me because i’m not beautiful
my painting’s for the weeping cries, of bleeding eyes
i’m an art form feasted upon
critiquing eyes and when the bleeding dries
you can comfort me
with your sympathy
of deceiving lies exposing my flaws
leaving me to hide
humiliated by my nakedness
instead of straight lines i walk around societies radius
destiny is handing me a raincheck
putting my soulmate on a waiting list
your love for this
painting was just a fading kiss
hand shaking with a fist
i am the god of this
home because i’ve created this
in my own words
“yet you still worship the battle rap
written by a pagan plagiarist”
as i start to flow and create to show my trend setting creativeness
this is the dope sh-t you’re still stuck in 86
not seeing the talent
my sculpture stands erect
with the head and legs around it
just trying to salvage whats left of my
aging flaking flesh
i express acts of insanity
like talking gibberish to family pets
the less i soak up my tears
the more i become depressed
sleeping in-between the br–sts of the god
as i feel like i’m drowning in her guarded breath
pounding my chest like a primate
trying to release my rage thats surrounded by stress
staring at the face of my lonely picture
thats worth one word and a thousand deaths
i tried to m-st-rbate but couldn’t get aroused
from your howling s-x and must go deeper
into my pile of wasted ideas and nonsense
think of what you want of this and come up with your own concepts
i’ll throw the word mental in so you can call it complex
running in place while my steps are traveling
swinging from the hands of time and grappling
while i rock my cradle
trying to set the mood
when its quiet i can hear my echo crying in the next room
i feel like an open flesh wound
being torn by other artists who claim my thrown needs reshaping
their words are like puncturing pins adding more tears to my bleeding painting
i can feel my self esteem draining
its raining, capture fears and dogs emotions
(i must be dreaming)
that i’m falling from the sky and my only safety net is an ocean
pulling the strings that are attached when my parachute won’t open
being pushed away like my tears
and breath that i’m holding
still no one has noticed me
choking on my words wondering what my worries are landing on
cuz i am nothing but a watered down version of anticon
standing calm yet in a helpless way whats left of my bleeding flesh finally melts away
and those that can’t feel me probably never felt this way
(never will)

[hook]
sticks and stones may break my bones but it’s your words that will always
wound me
with in or without thought i can still stand up straight without the help from fan support x2

[verse 2]
my fallen tears are wiped off the face of the earth
cuz men aren’t supposed to cry
closing the curtain on the show within my open eyes
her presence was left within the canvas
provoked the pieces from our hopeless prying
my emotion cries over lies
because the truth hurts
when its used to abuse the word that’s trying to let loose
and growing birth that spirts
why’re you reproducing your burn
“i’m losing my appet-te”
trying to quench your drooling thirst
paradise is lost what is found is a new secluded earth and darkness spattering words in my painting causing blotches
astranged my work i never claimed to be the artist
of this, underachieved
uncoordinated, offbeat
unacomplishment, the guilt of my consciousness
spills over my lips and i start to speak the honestness
in an old school flow
pick a number in-between 1 and 10 you end up with nothing except
someone saying”i told you so”
if i could boldly go where no man has gone before today
i could afford a toupe
without a cover charge
trying to comfort your scars as i reach the stars i’m nervous to break even
but still haven’t beaten the odds
drifting off into a deeper fog
i don’t pay to go to church because im a child of a lesser and cheaper god
driving a cheaper car
without a cellphone a visa card
could probably hurt me with your fists
but i think words leave a deeper scar
oh woah as me
as i sit lonely in the corner digressing with no point to my poetry
asking myself if i spoke these words with no face would people still know it was me
because i don’t sound rough like cannabis or soft like ?jodasy?
hopefully lost and floating at sea trying to reach the center of attention so someone (body) can finally notice me
overlooking my master piece
i’m better off as a stunt double
in bruce willise’s action movies
“working for free”
grasping a lose leaf piece of paper
reattaching it to the branches of the trees
trying to please nature
“she still hates me”
scr-ping the eraser across my face
i can feel it’s burning turning my images
distorted like a reflection in the pond churning as i skip rocks
i try to express my opinion of what’s right and wrong but all i know is this not hip hop and i am the greatest mc of all time besides kid rock
running in place leaving skid marks on the yellow brick road of sl!ck spots and potholes
dropping my clothes and exposing my nudity
ripping off my flesh and replacing it with plastic
so you can see through into the true me
here all i am now is just a bleeding painting tearing beautifully
hiding my crying in the silence of my hands
because i’m not doing this for props
i’m doing this so you can tell me how f-cking whack i am
this whole song is completely hopeless
now i feel like i shouldn’t have even wrote this

- prolyphic lyrics

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