On the Block

Yo, it’s been six weeks and countin' and still nothing to show Cycle through beats but the lightbulb won’t even glow I looked for inspiration, but imagination faded Now every word I write fills me with jaded hatred Like “look at all this b------- you created” I crumple it up, light the match and leave my thoughts cremated There. To a clean one, flip pages Spit aimless and feign a slight interest in getting famous Now I'm on the block yet again But I met a friend who told me to forget the pen Vendetta got me feelin' betta' than if we regret 'n mend Take the pain that I now cherish as love, and let it blend. But underneath it all, say he got nothing Like girls who hide their insecurities by stuffing They want somethin' tangible, but all he got is a vision Pinpointed with precision, but clouded by indecision. He likes to call it a mixed existence But knows deep down he's barely existin' (existin'...existin') [Stuck on the block, tryin’ my best to leave But the harder I try, the further it fades you see? I scrape the surface, silhouette emerges Resist hasty urges, decide to reword it] Back to grind the stone and rewind the poem Prone to get so involved that the lightbulb’s bound to blow Wish my sound would show how I looked ‘round the globe But I know at the end of the day, I’m surrounded all alone.