I’m in a loop where I don’t give a damn ’til the dam cracks, floods facts back, fast-track panic attacks in a jam. I laugh at the plan, smash glass with a glance, Half-past-madman staggering past my last chance. I’m the “nah, whatever” philosopher, mockin’ the monitor, Shruggin’ at destiny’s messenger, then lecturing the auditor. I bottle my bother, cork pressure in the hollower Corners of thought ’til the thought grows darker, heavier, hotter. I’m that “I don’t care” carri-on crow croakin’ at dawn, But poke at the wrong nerve and the whole thin grin’s gone. My calm’s camouflage, beneath it a bomb, Tick-talking philosophical lines like they’re psalms. I stall storms with sarcasm, spit wit with a spasm, Then crash into chasms of doubt I out-rap in sarcasm. My mind’s a prism, split decisions with incision precision, Yet my vision’s still derailed by collisions of indecision. I don’t care… ’till I do and then it glues like truth in a bruise. I play numb like it’s new, like apathy’s armor I use. But scratch the surface and you’ll hear the furnace burnin’ straight through. People’ll never hear my voice I hide behind lines I choose. I’m a ghost in the syntax, stitched back with pitch-black Whiplash rhythms that riff fast where riffs crack. Fake nonchalance on my tongue like a tic-tac, Flip that once I commit I don’t quit, I bite back. I’m the type to smirk at the burden, Then overwork the hurt ’til I turn it turbulent, Then act like the burnin’ circuit was perfectly worth it. Irony’s my furnace; purpose hides behind curtains. I mock everything, everyone, every sermon and certainty, Then get hit with a wave of concern so urgently You’d think I spent eternity earning hyperbole. I’m burden-free until burden’s me personally. That paradox wrist-twist, cynic with a wish-list, Pretending I’m careless to airbrush the risk quick. Life spits static I remix the misfits, Miss hits with slick quips, dodge truth with quick flips. And yeah I talk loud on a page ’cause my throat stays closed, My real sound’s choked in a crowd of ghosts. These lines are the costume I sew to stay composed, A borrowed voice borrowed from shadows I host. If you listen hard, you’ll hear the echo of a human enclosed. I don’t care… ’till I do and then it’s glue on wounds that never diffuse. I wear chill like a ruse, like I’m immune to the bruise. But peel the mask and you’ll see how the pressure resumes. People’ll never hear my voice I hide behind crafted rooms. Every shrug’s a shield, every joke’s a seal, Every “meh, whatever” is a way to conceal That the reel inside reels with a real appeal To feel but fear makes the fear ideal. So I kneel to the spiel of I-don’t-care zeal ’til the world pushes back and the act unpeels. I stare life in the face like, “What now, clown?” Then trip on the same step every time I calm down. I clown around to drown the sound of breakdowns, But breakdowns break ground in my playground. I’m a runaway thought-train, no brake-chain, Fake sane ’til the quake shakes veins like hate-rain. But I maintain the straight frame with day-pain, Spillin’ insane essays in melee wordplay lanes. I’m that Observer observing the one who’s observing, Nervous on purpose but surface is serving A version inverted, uncertain, diverted, Yet verses I blurt get surgically worded. I’m hurt but I hide it, I fight it with writin’, Excited to spite it, ignite it, indict it. My voice stays silent but my lines? They riot. I don’t care ’till I do that’s the truth I keep breakin’ into. If the world ever stops, I’ll still pace in this room, Where the voice that you’ll never hear whispers through what I groom. But the lines talk for me, ’cause I never let me through.
