[I] Call me names. Spit in my face. Fistfuls of dirt. Shout your hate. Make your throat bleed till it is dry. What is this trash? Did you even try? I want to cry where everyone can see. Bring me the blade; I will do it myself. [Pre-chorus] No soft little taps, no sugar on knives, hit where it matters, not where it vibes. [Chorus] If you are going to come at me, you had better bring a fight. If you are going to insult me, do it right. [II] Call me unstable; I wear it like chrome. I rearrange furniture inside a burning home. I chase the applause of a crowd that is not there, rehearse my breakdown and call it flair. Attention is sugar; I binge, then fall. I love like a mouth that eats you whole. I ask for the truth, then grade it for style. If it is not lethal, it was not worth my while. --- [III] I do not want love. I want to be chosen in public. I do not want to be known. I want to be impressive. I do not tell the truth. I stage it. Everything is a trap. I set them for fun. I bait every room. I pull every rung. I mess with minds. I manipulate moments. I do not heal. I monetize the wound. I tell you I am lying. I still make you believe me. I am only happy when I - am writing. I do not live by my words. I am a hypocrite on purpose. Hypocrite by design; contradiction for volume. Everything is a riddle I refuse to solve. A puzzle only I can see. I color it with crayon. I rig every room. I trick, trick, trick. I punish the people who stay. I smile at the ones who turn away. I keep my identity a secret. For obvious reasons. Nothing is real. I confuse adrenaline with meaning. I confuse chaos with depth. I would burn myself down — just to take you with me. [IV] Dopamine is my drug of choice. Addict for audience, famine for care. I harvest the gaze, then claim it is rare. I sell you my wreckage, call it refined. Curate the ruin, monetize the decline. I rehearse compassion to lip-sync pain. I hug you in public, go cold offstage. I yawn at love. I blush at hate. I want a cathedral, not someone’s hand. Name it in blood. Do it right. I use words as a weapon. Drama as diet, attention as bread. Season the truth till the truth is dead. I stir the room — to feed the drama. I glitter the damage. I invoice the ache. I call it confessional. I stage the quake. I have no friends — not that they did not try. I burn good bridges, then film the smoke. A smile behind my hands while I choke. Cowardice wearing glitter. Vanity dressed as pain. I sabotage myself. I am openly wrong. I am a crisis I calendar. I am the bruise I polish as proof. I am neglect with good lighting. I am collapse rehearsed as performance. I am loyalty to chaos and betrayal to peace. I ask for honesty, then punish it. I keep the wound open so the story never ends. They call that survival. I call that art. I yell, while wearing earplugs — atop my mountain of red flags. I display them for all to see. Some I reworded — just to keep you listening to me. I am above nothing. I feed the worms deep in the ground. I dig my own grave — just for a good night's sleep. I have seen more go than stay. Most just stick around to watch me fray. Many want me silent. I can understand why. I am just having too much fun — making them cry. I will sacrifice one to gain two. Some think I - am nice. That is not true. I care about few. That probably does not... include you. I reject society from the comfort of my home. I speak of rebellion while fantasizing chains. --- [Whisper Interlude] I create horror to blend. Your mind is where I plant my seed. I trained strangers to clap when I bleed. I keep the wound open so the story can breathe. [Outro] Gentle is boring. I want the pain. I want to cry under stones! Screaming in tears — as you break... my... bones. bones.
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