I paint these verses in the grey between sunrise and midnight,
every promise I broke becomes a ghost tapping the mic.
I swore I’d lift you higher than the static in my chest,
but I’m anchored to the echo of a heartbeat I confessed.
Your silhouette still flickers on the walls of every room,
a silent film of hope that I keep rewinding into gloom.
If mercy has a frequency, let it break this feedback loop—
I couldn’t be the hero, but I bleed the same shade you do.