His blood ran black on asphalt — I was twelve. I swore the world would never push my blood to hell. I wore the scar like armor, cold and sharp as nails. But time taught me the mirror — and the mirror never fails. Now the younger walks the path I paved with my own feet, And I taste the curb again whenever our eyes meet. He wears the mark I earned. He speaks the words I burned. I see my ghost in him. I see the bridge I turned. Concrete tongue — the world will crack your teeth. Concrete tongue — I broke my own belief. Concrete tongue — don't let them see you kneel. Concrete tongue — I know the way it feels. I turned the cage into a church of silence. Spent years unlearning every lesson carved in violence. But his eyes are burning with the fire that I fed. He thinks the world has sides — I know it's just the dead. The same grit in his jaw, the same hate in his grip. I put my hands on his shoulders — I feel the curb on my lip. He is the mirror I can't smash. He is the echo I can't trash. I taught him how to swing. Now I can't undo the thing. Concrete tongue — the world will crack your teeth. Concrete tongue — I broke my own belief. Concrete tongue — don't let them see you kneel. Concrete tongue — I know the way it feels. I held his blood in my palms — I thought I was washing it away with rage. But rage is just the curb in a different shape. It doesn't break them — it breaks you. I can't save you by telling you to stop. I can only show you the curb And say: I bit it too. Concrete tongue — the world will crack your teeth. Concrete tongue — I broke my own belief. Concrete tongue — don't let them see you kneel. Concrete tongue — I know the way it feels.
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