Mute Feelings (Produced by Tony Piazza)

by Mykele Deville

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the drain is close.
the hands are pulling.
the earth deteriorates in mass.
when coping with numb,
talk about it.


My gaze

Locked on the inner snake.

Slowly weaving through the alleys of my interstate

It shows its teeth to numb me

Venom dripping from the tips a fang for fame a fang for money.

Charming music makes them dance hypnotic trance

And I'm still hungry

tumbling dumbly through the vacuum of genre splitting inertia winning

breathing in the black fumes

From the cloud overhead.

Cliches be clocking all the time for rhymes im sure ive never said

Are you the help?

No you're the poet.

There's never room to talk of hurt you gotta show it

in the scarlet

afterglow and now they know it

Now they want ya

But burn them extra textures

They rather see you whipping a tesla not reciting a lecture

A greedy fist of golden rings nervously clutching a scepter.

Go cut your teeth on false belief

Just stop the leak, properly opting for autonomy

crave honesty but they don't give it

Just opinions as green as spinach

There's no wisdom in it.

Fuck malnutrition break bicuspids on they're good intentions

A painful ache to try to stomach when the gut is missing twist

And I'm still hungry

Love me



Like burning sands

Visions of mother picking cotton in a foreign land

Cave dwellers reaching to choke me with their calloused hands

Feeling the eyes beneath my skin again

I'm not the party I'm the entertainment

Flagrant critics keep contorting perception

Paying my ppl to act and tap like blacks don't have depression

Like learning late the worlds burning in soft focus reflections

The knowledge makes me sick and so i live without it

Dulling nerve endings

Muting the feelings about it

Dulling nerve endings

Muting the feelings about it

Dulling nerve endings

Muting the feelings about it....


released October 29, 2016
Produced by: Tony Piazza
Engineered by: Brok Mende

Recorded at: AudioTree



all rights reserved


Mykele Deville Chicago, Illinois

+Poet Rapper+
+Chicago +

I was born.
A pebble.
A pestilence.
The sickness
in the rock,
it formed
a skeleton.
Crystalized thoughts,
with melanin.
The sands
in the clock,
They tick
and they tock,
ya dig?
... more


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