PATHOLOGICAL

Wow… look at you, throwing rocks at your own disaster, building “new beginnings” just to torch ‘em even faster. You strut like a martyr in discount armor, but every lie you tell just makes your shadow larger. Blood on your hands while you whine “I’m the victim,” acting like your conscience broke but we both know you kicked it. You think you’re slick? Nah everyone’s heard the chatter. Your whole damn truth leaks out of you like bad plumbing splatter. I smell rot every time you open your mouth, a sewer monologue spilling southbound doubt. You fake affection with the grace of a busted puppet every “poor me” speech is a con, and you love it. Fake a tragedy, an injury, just to make a profit. Weaponize my empathy to drain another wallet. Twist your little stories 'til you look like you’re the target but I’m out of sympathy, bitch, and you’re about to lose your market. How do you sleep in that bed built from debris of bridges you torched for attention? Hope it was worth chasing everything you think you deserve you lie like it's instinct, no intervention. Pathological. Pathological. How you gonna act like the planet’s full of idiots? You’re the joke of the room, and you still don’t get the gist of it. You fake your pain like a dealer baggin’ counterfeits, then cry on camera like a budget exorcist. I’ve watched you practice victimhood like choreography, posing in the mirror like a martyr-to-be wannabe. You twist a truth so fast it gives the air a nosebleed you don’t want help, you want somebody else to bleed. You call it “healing,” I call it predation, a hobby of harm dressed up as revelation. You spit your excuses like plague replication but I’m the correction. A full termination. How do you sleep in that bed built from debris of bridges you torched for attention? Hope it was worth everything you ruined for worth you lie like you breathe, no apprehension. Pathological. Pathological. You crave validation like you’re starving for a pulse. Glue plastic feelings to your face and call the mask “results.” Every bond you make is counterfeit, a puppet-string infection. You vacuum empty rooms for praise your whole life’s misdirection. Fake a tragedy, an injury anything for profit! Weaponize compassion while your soul stays toxic! Burn another lifeline, call it “just being honest!” I’m done feeding parasites time to put your ass in the coffin! Mind-flash whiplash, burst through the ceiling, heartbeat shredding with a rage past healing. Teeth-set jaw-flex, you start squealing, I smell that fear in the lies you’re dealing. Run, bitch backtrack, panic in your posture, I see your soul stutter like a glitching imposter. Truth hits hard and your pulse gets hotter I drag your myth deeper, slaughter to foster. Cut-line tongue-spin, verbal evisceration, every excuse you spit’s self-incineration. You built your whole life on exaggeration I tear that down with acceleration. Speed-warp breath-snap, you fold, I thrive, your whole damn persona’s barely alive. I see every weakness you try to revive I pull that thread and the whole house dives. Brain-rush snap-crush, I outpace your terror, rewrite your lies with a surgeon’s error. Your name in the air is a public bearer of fraud, of rot, of a self-made horror. I break your mask with a line too sharp, slice through delusion like a poisoned harp. You wrote yourself as the victim’s arc I rewrote it clean as a fucking mark. How do you sleep in that tomb you call a dream, where every lie comes hauntin’? Hope it was worth setting fire to your own worth you rot in the image you flaunted. Pathological. You always were. Pathological.