Title: “Ashes in the Architecture”
Title: “Ashes in the Architecture” (1) I write sermons in silence, my pen is a priest, Confessing to paper where monsters don't cease. (2) A child of the static, where chaos is norm, Built a temple of trauma and called it reform. (3) Mama lit candles while Pops lit cigars, He prayed to the bottle, she prayed to the stars. (4) The government smiled, but sold us disease, Fed lies to the children, then called it "degrees." (5) Debt over freedom, your chains come with fees, They weaponized dreams and patented peace. (6) Mental collapse in a medicated world, Pill bottles pop louder than boys with a twirl. (7) Scripted emotions injected like ink, So now we bleed colors the doctors can't think. (8) The therapist said, “You suppress like a vault,” But how can I cry when my tears get assault? (9) A nation of numbness with spiritual drought, Where truth gets assassinated mid-shout. (10) I walk through the ruins of virtue and vice, Each step like a sermon, each word like a slice. (11) Systemic decay under digital skin, Where children are prophets just trapped in a bin. (12) They auction our trauma in social campaigns, Then virtue-signal mercy to monetize pain. (13) I seen angels in alleys with needles in arms, And devils in polos who funded the harm. (14) We chase validation like oxygen tanks, Suffocating in metrics with zero in banks. (15) Algorithms choose what your soul gets to see, So freedom's a filter not given for free. (16) A poet with scars, I was born into war, But mine was internal and waged behind doors. (17) I held my own pulse while I questioned the void, Each heartbeat a verse, every silence destroyed. (18) I baptized my shadow in oceans of doubt, 'Til pain became language my spirit could shout. (19) I don’t rap for applause or a chain on my neck, I rap for the kids who ain't made it out yet. (20) A whisper of justice in rooms full of fraud, My pen is a sword and my silence is God. (21) I've been broken, not shattered — there's strength in the cracks, Like gold in Kintsugi, I treasure the lacks. (22) They taught us to hustle, but not how to heal, So we numb our reflection and call that “real.” (23) My verses wear suits, they speak in the court, Indicting the silence that pain has brought forth. (24) I’m just tryna build cathedrals from grief, Architect pain into columns of belief. (25) I ain’t flawless — I sin with precision, But learn with conviction, a martyr's revision. (26) Truth is a burden that burns like a flare, But I still choose to carry it everywhere. (27) So judge me with intellect, not with your fear, 'Cause I spit for the souls that no longer appear. (28) They vanished in shadows the world didn’t check, Too busy in selfies to notice the wreck. (29) Empathy drowned in the sea of acclaim, And justice got hacked in the code of the game. (30) I see gods in the mirror when I look real deep, But demons in shadows that whisper in sleep. (31) Each line is a bloodstain I managed to rhyme, Each stanza a prayer, a protest through time. (32) They sell us escape, but not how to cope, Addiction’s a symptom of normalized hope. (33) I dissect the system like scalpel on flesh, Reveal all the rot they perfume to refresh. (34) You say you want bars? Then prepare for the cost, 'Cause truth ain’t melodic, it's written in loss. (35) I was raised in a code where silence was law, Where pain was a whisper, and crying was flaw. (36) But now I revolt in the rhythm I write, My trauma’s a torch that I use for the night. (37) From alleyway ashes to ivory peaks, I clawed out my name with ink and mystique. (38) If death is a poet, then life is a beat, And I’m just the dancer with scars on his feet. (39) So tell me I’m broken, I’ll show you I’m born, A phoenix of failure, from fury and scorn. (40) Each metaphor breathes what society choked, A verse is a blade and my tongue just spoke. (41) I've died in my sleep just to wake up and fight, Like nightmares that knock while you pray for the light. (42) If Heaven got gates, then Hell got a stage, And I’m somewhere between with a mic and a cage. (43) My truth ain’t for clout — it’s catharsis and cure, For the poet’s disease that no meds endure. (44) If bars were a church, I’d preach in the grime, Where holiness flickers in rhythm and rhyme. (45) So while they chase charts, I chase what is just, Resurrecting the silenced and giving them trust. (46) The world's on a leash made of profit and pride, But I’ll die with a pen and my soul on my side. (47) I won’t bow to labels or metrics of worth, I spit for the dead who still walk on this Earth. (48) So whether I’m praised or forgotten in mist, My verses exist as a clenched, raised fist. (49) To the voiceless, the bruised, the misread, the unheard, I gift you this language: a sharpened word. (50) From ashes in ruins, I build from the flame, Not just for the glory — but to reclaim the name.
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Title: “Ashes in the Architecture” (1) I write sermons in silence, my pen is a priest, Confessing to paper where monsters don't cease. (2) A child of the static, where chaos is norm, Built a temple of trauma and called it reform. (3) Mama lit candles while Pops lit cigars, He prayed to the bottle, she prayed to the stars. (4) The government smiled, but sold us disease, Fed lies to the children, then called it "degrees." (5) Debt over freedom, your chains come with fees, They weaponized dreams and patented peace. (6) Mental collapse in a medicated world, Pill bottles pop louder than boys with a twirl. (7) Scripted emotions injected like ink, So now we bleed colors the doctors can't think. (8) The therapist said, “You suppress like a vault,” But how can I cry when my tears get assault? (9) A nation of numbness with spiritual drought, Where truth gets assassinated mid-shout. (10) I walk through the ruins of virtue and vice, Each step like a sermon, each word like a slice. (11) Systemic decay under digital skin, Where children are prophets just trapped in a bin. (12) They auction our trauma in social campaigns, Then virtue-signal mercy to monetize pain. (13) I seen angels in alleys with needles in arms, And devils in polos who funded the harm. (14) We chase validation like oxygen tanks, Suffocating in metrics with zero in banks. (15) Algorithms choose what your soul gets to see, So freedom's a filter not given for free. (16) A poet with scars, I was born into war, But mine was internal and waged behind doors. (17) I held my own pulse while I questioned the void, Each heartbeat a verse, every silence destroyed. (18) I baptized my shadow in oceans of doubt, 'Til pain became language my spirit could shout. (19) I don’t rap for applause or a chain on my neck, I rap for the kids who ain't made it out yet. (20) A whisper of justice in rooms full of fraud, My pen is a sword and my silence is God. (21) I've been broken, not shattered — there's strength in the cracks, Like gold in Kintsugi, I treasure the lacks. (22) They taught us to hustle, but not how to heal, So we numb our reflection and call that “real.” (23) My verses wear suits, they speak in the court, Indicting the silence that pain has brought forth. (24) I’m just tryna build cathedrals from grief, Architect pain into columns of belief. (25) I ain’t flawless — I sin with precision, But learn with conviction, a martyr's revision. (26) Truth is a burden that burns like a flare, But I still choose to carry it everywhere. (27) So judge me with intellect, not with your fear, 'Cause I spit for the souls that no longer appear. (28) They vanished in shadows the world didn’t check, Too busy in selfies to notice the wreck. (29) Empathy drowned in the sea of acclaim, And justice got hacked in the code of the game. (30) I see gods in the mirror when I look real deep, But demons in shadows that whisper in sleep. (31) Each line is a bloodstain I managed to rhyme, Each stanza a prayer, a protest through time. (32) They sell us escape, but not how to cope, Addiction’s a symptom of normalized hope. (33) I dissect the system like scalpel on flesh, Reveal all the rot they perfume to refresh. (34) You say you want bars? Then prepare for the cost, 'Cause truth ain’t melodic, it's written in loss. (35) I was raised in a code where silence was law, Where pain was a whisper, and crying was flaw. (36) But now I revolt in the rhythm I write, My trauma’s a torch that I use for the night. (37) From alleyway ashes to ivory peaks, I clawed out my name with ink and mystique. (38) If death is a poet, then life is a beat, And I’m just the dancer with scars on his feet. (39) So tell me I’m broken, I’ll show you I’m born, A phoenix of failure, from fury and scorn. (40) Each metaphor breathes what society choked, A verse is a blade and my tongue just spoke. (41) I've died in my sleep just to wake up and fight, Like nightmares that knock while you pray for the light. (42) If Heaven got gates, then Hell got a stage, And I’m somewhere between with a mic and a cage. (43) My truth ain’t for clout — it’s catharsis and cure, For the poet’s disease that no meds endure. (44) If bars were a church, I’d preach in the grime, Where holiness flickers in rhythm and rhyme. (45) So while they chase charts, I chase what is just, Resurrecting the silenced and giving them trust. (46) The world's on a leash made of profit and pride, But I’ll die with a pen and my soul on my side. (47) I won’t bow to labels or metrics of worth, I spit for the dead who still walk on this Earth. (48) So whether I’m praised or forgotten in mist, My verses exist as a clenched, raised fist. (49) To the voiceless, the bruised, the misread, the unheard, I gift you this language: a sharpened word. (50) From ashes in ruins, I build from the flame, Not just for the glory — but to reclaim the name.