They dress up decay in diamonds,  
call it love,  
call it legacy.  
But I see the rust beneath the glitter,  
and I spit truth  
like venom in a velvet chalice.

This world’s a theater of fakes,  
drama stitched in skin-deep stakes.  
They **** for gold that flakes in rain,  
then cry when love don’t feel the same.

I walk through crowds of mannequins,  
smiles stapled on with sin.  
They preach connection,  
but their hands are hollow—  
grasping ghosts  
just to feel something shallow.

They trade truth for trending,  
sell pain for praise.  
I spit sermons in cipher  
while they drown in their own haze.

I don’t play their game.  
I burn the board.  
I don’t chase their fame.  
I forge the sword.

Plastic thrones,  
poisoned crowns—  
they rise in noise  
and fall in sound.

They love like leeches,  
feed on fear.  
I walk alone  
but I walk clear.

They **** for gold  
that flakes in light.  
They love with hearts  
already blight.

I don’t beg.  
I don’t bend.  
I just build  
what they pretend.

They post their pain like trophies,  
but never bleed for real.  
I write in scars and silence—  
they just mimic what they feel.

I’ve seen love sold in filters,  
truth drowned in trends.  
I’ve watched gods turn to influencers  
and prophets chase dead ends.

They wear chaos like fashion,  
but I wear mine like armor.  
They scream for attention—  
I whisper for honor.

I don’t need their spotlight—  
I burn in eclipse.  
I don’t need their lips—  
I speak from crypts.

Let them crown themselves in plastic.  
Let them dance in drama’s flame.  
I’ll be carving truth in tombstones  
while they chase a hollow name.

I don’t want their gold—  
it flakes too fast.  
I don’t want their love—  
it’s built to crash.

I want silence that sings.  
I want pain that’s pure.  
I want legacy  
that can endure.

Plastic thrones,  
poisoned crowns—  
they rise in noise  
and fall in sound.

They **** for gold  
that flakes in light.  
They love with hearts  
already blight.

I walk alone  
but I walk true.  
I build from ash  
what they undo.

Let them rot in riches.  
Let them drown in fame.  
I’ll be the echo  
they couldn’t name.

Mind flips like aces / deck ain’t stacked—it’s cursed  
Rabbit ran but I reversed / chase the clock till time’s coerced  
Hat too loud for hush / grin stitched with fury finesse  
Drawl pulls teeth from truth / I don’t speak—I compress  

I skip through mirrors with boots in bloom / logic’s looted, tethered tomb  
Southern slang on shroomed syntax / I bend reality just to make it room  
Teacup scalded with rebel steam / slurp chaos when the world don’t dream  
Pocket watch don’t tick for me / I punctuate pain with rural gleam  

Hatter but no haberdashery / scars dressed sharp in auditory  
Wordplay thick like swamp at dusk / I spit static with auditory rush  
I don’t rap—I incant rage / every verse is stage and cage  
I craft metaphors with serpents’ teeth / spit sermons stitched in glitch and grief  

I’m madder than most but I balance the burn  
Drawl stays sly while the syllables churn  
Tea party’s dead—I just feast on the void  
Truth twisted tight like toys I destroyed  

No name, no face, just venom and spit  
Madness ain’t flair—it’s the way I commit  
If Wonderland flips, I flip first  
Trap soul in flow, then grind in verse  

Top hat packed with paradox / Southern slang slick like shadowbox  
I punch lines through paradox / my syntax spits when clocks get locked  
Verse bends time like metal warped / cadence cleaves like tongues torqued  
Y’all wear fame—I wear flame / my drawl defies and distorts  

Hooked on ink and impact scars / I rhyme in scars and rebel bars  
If thought was straight, I'd twist it / I load rhyme clips and risk it  
Ain’t sane, ain’t sorry, just sulfurous joy  
I rap like silence is something to destroy  

I ain’t the hat—I’m the storm beneath  
I speak in riddles, rot, and wreath  
If Wonderland lost me, good—  
I’m busy carving verses they misunderstood

I walk upside down on flat ground
tongue twist truths till they drown  
Face ain’t fixed, it flickers
I got thoughts in trap and a drawl that slithers  
Whispers pack punch like bass hits
I speak in lines that leave split wrists  
Ain’t here to entertain—I fracture frames
if sanity’s sane, I spit disdain  

Madness ain’t noise, it’s code
I break silence in a Southern mode  
Smile too wide for mercy
my metaphors bloom where the blood be thirsty  
Talk slick, slow—each word’s a twitch
I grin in gaps and stitch the glitch  
Thoughts slither in syllable stings
I spit sermons where silence clings  

Camouflage ain’t invisibility
it’s clarity where they fear agility  
My rhyme scheme don't spiral—it lacerates grin so sharp, it decapitates  
I got claws in cadence
speak peace then twist the placement  
I crack their logic with lullabies and slip through truths they fantasize  


I never blink, just splits
I flip each phrase and burn their scripts  
Don’t chase fame, chase fractures
drawl drops slow like haunted actors  
Smile’s the weapon, verse is the war
grin in the dark then break the floor  
I rap like riddles with venom teeth
they talk in echoes—I spit beneath  

Unfold like smoke in midnight swamp
syntax coiled like rebel stomp  
Trap souls with a twang too real
lace rhymes that gut then seal  
I ain't mad—I’m precision masked
words bend space where shadows bask  
Each metaphor’s a mark
I etch doubt into their spark  

My grin’s a gateway, not a gesture
I speak in fractures, not in pressure  
I don’t need chaos—I am the glitch
rhyme’s my gospel, madness my pitch  
Southern soul stitched in cipher heat
I don’t spit bars—I cleave deceit  
They rhyme to rhyme—I rhyme to haunt
if thoughts were doors, I kick the front  
  
Track don't fade—it evaporates
my style don't mimic, it mutilates  
Cheshire in drawl, mind in ruins
grin is gospel, cipher’s communion

Sitting here with a cloudy mind,  
thoughts drifting like smoke signals in slow rewind.  
My sorrows lift like morning fog,  
never loud—just gone.

Never been simple, always complex,  
like trying to read scripture in shattered text.  
Days fuse into years in a flash,  
like lightning stitched to memory’s ash.

Always circling around my heart,  
like vultures that know where the truth starts.  
Confused on moments, long gone,  
replaced with dreams I never asked to dawn.

Stationary, intertwining—  
like oak roots tangled in silver lining.  
I don’t move fast, but I grow deep,  
in soil soaked with secrets I keep.

Some days the skies are bright,  
like forgiveness dressed in light.  
Other days darker than the abyss,  
where chaos slow dances with bliss.

I ain’t lost.  
I’m layered.  
I ain’t broken.  
I’m weathered.

This mind ain’t clear,  
but it’s mine.  
And every cloud  
still lets me shine.

I been driving through Cold Shoulder County,  
where the liquor’s cheap  
but pain stacks a bounty.  
Gas station breath and a rearview lie,  
I chased her name  
through a bloodshot sky.  
The stars don’t talk when the bottle’s full,  
they just flicker out  
when the memories pull.  
Every mile’s a sermon I can’t recite,  
so I sing to the dark  
just to feel alright.
'Cause there ain’t no mercy on the way I bend,  
just barstool hymns  
and nights that never end.  
This voice ain’t gold, it’s rust and smoke,  
I croon from pain  
when my prayers choke.  
If you hear me loud when you’re breaking down,  
I ain’t the cure—  
but I’m still around.
Got a gospel hum in a scratchy throat,  
I’ve loved like fire  
but it never wrote.  
Drove home drunk in a suit of blame,  
sang my truth  
but she burned the frame.  
My mama said, “Son, the pills won’t fix ya,”  
and the preacher nodded  
but he never blessed ya.  
I ain’t a sinner, I’m just too worn  
to fake redemption  
in a suit I’ve torn.
Cold Shoulder County don’t keep score,  
it just lets you drink  
until you’re sore.  
But I remember how her silence hit—  
like a goodbye  
dipped in spit.
Don’t call it healing, call it grit,  
a song from ruin  
that refuses to quit.  
I’ve carved my name in motel dust,  
loved too hard  
and lost my trust.  
But if you’re aching in some backroad storm,  
know this chorus  
keeps you warm.  
Sing with me if the night gets loud,  
we’ll write new hymns  
from a shattered crowd.
There ain’t no mercy on the way I bend,  
just cracked guitars  
and texts I’ll never send.  
My voice ain’t gold, it’s mud and flame,  
but I’ll keep singing  
through the blame.
If you hear me clear in the quiet ache,  
I ain’t the cure—  
but I’ll never break.

No hymn. Just whisper.  
No light. Just flicker.  
I write from where  
the saints don’t linger.
Ink in my veins, blood’s half bourbon,  
rhyme like bruises—grief suburban.  
Truth don’t knock, it breaks the frame,  
I spit through teeth  
that taste like flame.  
Smoke curls from a prayer gone wrong,  
I sing to silence  
that sings along.  
Rust in my lungs, gospel ash,  
hope collapses  
in every flash.
Smoke signal gospel—cut and cast,  
I preach in scars  
that always last.  
No healing hymn, no clean retreat,  
just verse in fire  
and pulse in heat.  
I’m a mix of war and grace,  
love’s a ghost  
I can’t erase.  
Every lyric’s carved in strife—  
this ain’t a song,  
it’s real life.
Bone-deep ache behind the tone,  
each line echoes  
through the stone.  
Cracked beliefs and tethered sin,  
I wear the loss  
beneath my skin.  
Redemption ain’t a gentle name,  
it stings like truth  
I won’t reclaim.  
This ink was earned in broken rooms,  
where crows sing loud  
beneath the gloom.
I coughed out truth through fractured ribs,  
breathed lantern smoke  
on shattered hymns.  
A sinner humming through the storm,  
voice carved soft  
but never warm.  
Let the quiet stretch and swell—  
a breath between  
where fire fell.  
This ain't a bridge—it’s memory raw,  
echo of the pain  
I never saw.
I gave my blood to burn this rite,  
each lyric forged  
in failing light.  
No peace found in velvet skies,  
I’ve danced with ghosts  
who fed me lies.  
Scars talk louder than regrets,  
I rhyme in wounds  
the world forgets.  
Let silence crack, let echoes scream—  
this gospel’s born  
from shattered dreams.
Smoke signal gospel—cut and cast,  
I preach in scars  
that always last.  
No healing hymn, no saintly tune,  
just shattered love  
beneath the moon.  
I ain’t healed, but I’m defined,  
gravel-throated  
by design.  
Every line’s a soul I bled—  
this song won’t soothe—  
it shouts instead.
Let silence swell, let echoes fade,  
I sang with knives  
and truths I made.  
No final word, no saintly close—  
just fire,  
and the smoke that knows

Silhouettes shifting like twilight breeds,  
personalities flicker in broken feeds.  
Switching fast like kaleidoscope storm,  
realities crash in variant form.  
Thoughts unread—who’s voice is this?  
Split in verses you can’t dismiss.  
Fragments cycle through mirrored fate,  
one mind spun in multistate.  
No relief—just disbelief flung,  
venom laced in a breathless tongue.  
Poison coats the hollow ache,  
identity blurred in shadow’s wake.
Empty thoughts on blank-eyed flame,  
silent stares with no reclaimed name.  
Cracked reflections echo deep,  
I rhyme from sleep my others keep.  
Each face stitched to memory’s edge,  
voices cross on spectral ledge.  
Which one speaks through static shell?  
Who bleeds the verse? Who hides it well?
Disjointed logic, rhythm clashed,  
every echo consciousness smashed.  
Split realities—mask parade,  
I spit in tones that rupture shade.  
Truth ain’t fluid—it fractures clean,  
a cipher carved in grayscale sheen.  
No therapy stitched these threads intact,  
I rap from the cortex fate attacked.
So read my thoughts—if you dare to sift,  
through kaleidoscope shards  
where shadows drift.  
Same body, multiple minds equipped—  
this is mirror spit,  
and none eclipse.