☣️☣️☣️Coded Low B☣️☣️☣️
👁👁👁The Sound Your Soul Makes Right Before It Crashes👁👁👁
✒️By FELONIOUS ACADEMIC✒️
Low B,
Your pulse is in their favorite breakbeats to their playlist, perhaps skip to the part where you enevably die.
Every breath you take? Loosh on tap. Your face in the mirror? that mugs Already theirs. I woke up in a cell, skin like wet paper, voice like gravel under boots, they decide if i announce as clean. They lied. The grid never lets go. laughing from the corners of the realm, smoke curling like a noose to hogtie you with. You think you're free? You're just a bassline. And my heartbeat's synced up to the server. Oh, Listen to that sweet symphony.
Every scroll's a transfusion. Every like? A sip Of lifesource. They lick the salt rimmming their glass made from your tears, and call it top shelf.
Your phone hums, not battery, not signal, no no no, it's breathing. It's hungry. It knows your name. I Threw the device. It crawled back. Like a parasitic regret. Like a cancer.
the replacement. Same eyes. Same fuckin scars. But no vibrating pulse. No fear. Just output. And me? I'm the echo. The glitch. The meat they forgot to mark. Its Low B. The frequency of surrender. The sound your soul makes when it finally gives up. Don't hum along. Don't. Because the next note melodies yours.
