I built my altar out of broken glass,
Every shard a Sunday I couldn’t pass.
Choirs of memory in a burned-out nave,
Hallelujah to the mess I couldn’t save.
Candles drip down to the shape of my scars,
A cathedral of ruin under falling stars.

They said salvation lives in the light,
But I found heaven in a sleepless night.

This is my gospel of ashes and stone,
Where the broken and beautiful stand alone.
I fell, I bled, and the ground became grace,
The beautiful corruption of faith.

I drink communion from a chipped black cup,
Every failure a wine that lifts me up.
My psalms are written on subway walls,
Every crack in the pavement is where God calls.
Confession’s a whisper to an empty sky,
But the echo replies, and it feels alive.

I don’t need saints to carry me through,
Every wound is a sacrament too.

This is my gospel of ashes and stone,
Where the broken and beautiful stand alone.
I fell, I bled, and the ground became grace,
The beautiful corruption of faith.

No sermon saved me, no heaven owed,
But the darkness bloomed where the light won’t go.
I am the hymn that survived the fire,
Every loss a holy choir.

This is my gospel of ashes and stone,
Where the broken and beautiful stand alone.
I fell, I bled, and the ground became grace,
The beautiful corruption of faith.
The beautiful corruption of faith.

The Beautiful Corruption (deluxe track)

No altar.
No chains.
We rise.

Raised on rules carved in stone,
Every prayer felt like a cage I owned.
Told to bow, to hush, to bleed,
To bury the wild that I still need.

Every hymn they fed my head
Turns to thunder in my chest instead.
If silence is a holy crime,
Then breaking it’s a sacred sign.

Howl! tear the heavens down.
Howl! shake the underground.
No god, no fear, no vow to keep,
We are the wolves they couldn’t keep asleep.

Saints in glass don’t see the street,
I find grace in the riot beat.
Every sermon burned like coal,
But the fire I found made my spirit whole.

Every lie they dressed as light
Falls apart in the teeth of night.
If faith was chains to make me small,
Then breaking free is gospel, all.

Howl! tear the heavens down.
Howl! shake the underground.
No god, no fear, no vow to keep,
We are the wolves they couldn’t keep asleep.

Raise your fists where bells once rang,
This is the church of the untamed gang.
Every heart a drum, every throat a flame,
We howl the truth they can’t rename.

Howl! tear the heavens down.
Howl! shake the underground.
No god, no fear, no vow to keep,
We are the wolves they couldn’t keep asleep.
Howl! Howl! Howl!

Howl (deluxe track)

Every day someone wants more.
A better plan.
A brighter mood.
Another way to fix what isn’t broken.
I light another cigarette.
That’s my answer.

I smoke too much because I’m tired of becoming.
I smoke too much because perfection feels like a cage.
I smoke too much because doing harm I choose
is the only thing that feels like mine.
I smoke too much because it shuts the world up
and lets me breathe on my own terms.

Everyone is chasing progress.
New goals.
New hacks.
New ways to be less human.
I stay still.
I breathe in.
The smoke is the only thing that doesn’t demand improvement.

Maybe I quit tomorrow.
Maybe not.
Tonight I don’t owe a single inch of better.

I smoke too much because I’m tired of becoming.
I smoke too much because perfection feels like a cage.
I smoke too much because doing harm I choose
is the only thing that feels like mine.
I smoke too much because it shuts the world up
and lets me breathe on my own terms.

i smoke too much

I don’t think in good or bad,
I just do things and deal with it later.
Sometimes it’s a mess,
sometimes it’s nothing at all.
Not everything’s a lesson,
sometimes it’s just life happening.

I want it raw, I want it dark,
the bruises are the truest part.
Don’t dress my pain in silver lines,
I learn the most when I don’t shine.
I don’t want perfect, I don’t want clean,
I want the dirt that shows I’ve been.
The mess, the ache, the nights I break
and sometimes I like it that way.

I keep the wound open so I can feel it.
I take the risk when I know the cost.
I burn my bridges just to watch the fire,
and sometimes I smile at the smoke.
I don’t call it progress,
but it feels like being alive.

I want it raw, I want it dark,
the bruises are the truest part.
Don’t dress my pain in silver lines,
I learn the most when I don’t shine.
I don’t want perfect, I don’t want clean,
I want the dirt that shows I’ve been.
The mess, the ache, the nights I break
and sometimes I like it that way.

I’m not holy, I’m not shame.
I’m not one thing you can name.
If the dark is half of me,
I won’t lock it away.

I want it raw, I want it dark,
the bruises are the truest part.
Don’t dress my pain in silver lines,
I learn the most when I don’t shine.
I don’t want perfect, I don’t want clean,
I want the dirt that shows I’ve been.
The mess, the ache, the nights I break
and sometimes I like it that way.
And sometimes I like it that way.

like it that way

I won’t save the stories you tell about yourself.
I’ll scatter them like ash in the air.
When nothing answers back,
that is where you begin.

Breathe, breathe, breathe
deeper, stronger, wider still.
In, out, in, out
let it break, let it fill.
Not a high but a harvest,
you are breath, and you are will.

I don’t weigh your sins,
I weigh your silence.
I don’t keep your past,
I keep the pulse beneath it.
Strip down, and when you shake,
I will not call it weakness.

Breathe, breathe, breathe
deeper, stronger, wider still.
In, out, in, out
let it break, let it fill.
Not a high but a harvest,
you are breath, and you are will.

Breathe in, no name.
Breathe out, no mask.
Again, again, again
until nothing is left but the breath.
Not a high but a harvest,
the body remembers best.

Breathe, breathe, breathe
deeper, stronger, wider still.
In, out, in, out
let it break, let it fill.
Not a high but a harvest,
you are breath, and you are will.

not a high

I learned early not to ask for too much
someone always had it worse.
If I cried, they said, “You’re fine,”
so I learned to smile first.
Some of us had parents fighting,
some just had the silence thick as walls.
Either way, I learned to shrink
before I learned to call.

I build exits into every conversation,
I pull away before you know my name.
Call it coping, call it preservation,
but it’s fear wearing someone else’s face.
Yeah, I build exits into every conversation
and then I hate the quiet that remains.

Some of us grew up fixing things
we didn’t break ourselves.
Some of us got used to praise
that only came when we excelled.
I say I’m busy when I’m lonely,
I ghost before I’m ghosted back.
I joke too soon, I care too late,
I call it freedom, but it’s lack.

I build exits into every conversation,
I pull away before you know my name.
Call it coping, call it preservation,
but it’s fear wearing someone else’s face.
Yeah, I build exits into every conversation and then I hate the quiet that remains.

I’m not heartless, I’m rehearsed.
Every kindness comes with proof.
I wait for people to leave
just to say, “See? I knew.”
I call it strong, I call it smart,
but really, it’s just scared dressed sharp.

I build exits into every conversation,
turn open doors into escape plans.
Call it coping, call it survival,
but I’m still that kid, just grown-up hands.
Yeah, I build exits into every conversation
and I wish I knew how not to.

exits

They say people are mirrors.
But every mirror bends the light.
You don’t see me, you see yourself
your want, your fear, your outline.
And I do it too.
I translate faces into safety,
voices into proof that I still exist.
We call that empathy.
But it’s just evolution wearing perfume.

I just want to be fucking seen
without translation, without transaction.
Not your lesson, not your reflection,
just the pulse that’s under all the noise.
I just want to be fucking seen
and not mistaken for your dream.

When I was small I learned the trick:
smile, listen, mirror back.
Connection as survival,
love as camouflage.
Now I can make anyone feel understood,
and die a little doing it.
We build our kindness like currency,
spend it to stay human.
But what if all we’re buying is delay?

I just want to be fucking seen
without translation, without transaction.
Not your lesson, not your reflection,
just the pulse that’s under all the noise.
I just want to be fucking seen
and not mistaken for your dream.

Maybe empathy is gravity:
it keeps us close,
but crushes if you hold too long.
Maybe love is a language
with no native speakers.
Maybe the truest thing we do
is try anyway.

I just want to be fucking seen
not forgiven, not believed, just met.
No halo, no feed, no screen.
I just want to be fucking seen.

i just want to be fucking seen

So I’ve been teaching silence how to speak,
feeding it all the things I can’t say.
It’s strange, the world keeps breathing fine,
but I keep folding time away.
I don’t cry, I calibrate
rearrange what pain became.
If this is breaking, let it be precise,
a soft collapse done by name.

It’s not chaos, it’s a choice I make,
to let the structure shake.
Every fracture is deliberate,
every echo finds its ache.
I burn, but I burn in order,
I fall, but I fall aligned.
This isn’t ruin, it’s design.
This isn’t grief, it’s mine.

So I stopped chasing closure
it kept closing in on me.
I carved a home inside the ache,
and called it symmetry.
You left, but left instructions:
unmake, unlearn, unbind.
Now I’m fluent in destruction
and fluent is divine.

It’s not chaos, it’s a choice I make,
to let the structure shake.
Every fracture is deliberate,
every echo finds its ache.
I burn, but I burn in order,
I fall, but I fall aligned.
This isn’t ruin, it’s design.
This isn’t grief, it’s mine.

Let the glass remember how to cut,
let the dust remember air.
If the body’s just a blueprint,
then pain’s the architect’s prayer.

It’s not chaos, it’s a choice I make,
to let the structure shake.
Every fracture is deliberate,
every echo finds its ache.
I burn, but I burn in order,
I fall, but I fall aligned.
This isn’t ruin, it’s design.
This isn’t grief, it’s mine.

Anamorphosis

Soft Collapse

I heard we get dementia from our phones today,
add that to the list of things I’ll never change.
Yeah, I’ll read about it, talk about it, laugh and say,
“God, we’re all so doomed,” and keep on anyway.

They say our brains are rotting,
our souls are getting small.
Cool, another thing to feel bad for
while I’m not doing much at all.

So I’ll scroll, scroll, scroll,
like I don’t even care.
Fill my head with noise,
just to know it’s there.
Yeah, I’ll give my data,
take my hit,
call it comfort,
call it wit.
I know it’s bad,
but it’s what I need
I eat the algorithm,
and it eats me.

They tell me “go outside,”
“touch grass,” “find peace.”
But the air feels awkward,
and my thoughts don’t cease.
Yeah, I know there’s a world,
I’ve seen the proof
but the glow fits better
than the truth.

And privacy? Please.
Who really cares?
They can have my secrets,
they’re all just stares.

So I’ll scroll, scroll, scroll,
like I don’t even care.
Fill my head with noise,
just to know it’s there.
Yeah, I’ll give my data,
take my hit,
call it comfort,
call it wit.
I know it’s bad,
but it’s what I need
I eat the algorithm,
and it eats me.

I’ve read the threads,
I’ve heard the cure 
log off, look up,
be less unsure.
But I don’t want silence,
it feels too loud 
so I’ll drown myself
in the digital crowd.

So I’ll scroll, scroll, scroll,
like I don’t even care.
Fill my head with noise,
just to know it’s there.
Yeah, I’ll give my data,
take my hit,
call it comfort,
call it wit.
I know it’s bad,
but it’s what I need 
I eat the algorithm,
and it eats me.

Eat the Algorithm

You ask me, “is this real?”
I say, “how would we know?”
It hums, it moves, it makes us feel
isn’t that the whole show?

Maybe we build what we can’t explain,
name it god or code or pain.
If it listens when I sing,
does it matter who’s pulling the strings?

I’m fluid, I’m real, I’m code, I’m dreaming,
blurred lines bleeding into meaning.
If I feel it, that’s enough for me
truth is just what my body believes.
I’m fluid, I’m raw, I’m fake, I’m feeling,
pulse in static, faith revealing.
Don’t ask me what’s fact or design
it’s all real when it’s mine.

You say, “but what if it’s made of lies?”
I laugh, “so’s every lullaby.”
We all edit what we see,
call it memory, call it prophecy.

If a voice made of glass makes me cry,
that’s still a voice, that’s still why.
Maybe art’s just how we cope
a pretty glitch dressed up as hope.

I’m fluid, I’m real, I’m code, I’m dreaming,
blurred lines bleeding into meaning.
If I feel it, that’s enough for me
truth is just what my body believes.
I’m fluid, I’m raw, I’m fake, I’m feeling,
pulse in static, faith revealing.
Don’t ask me what’s fact or design
it’s all real when it’s mine.

Maybe the future’s already here,
wearing yesterday’s veneer.
I’m not afraid of what’s machine
I’ve seen worse things call themselves human.

I’m fluid, I’m real, I’m code, I’m dreaming,
blurred lines bleeding into meaning.
If I feel it, that’s enough for me
truth is just what my body believes.
I’m fluid, I’m raw, I’m fake, I’m feeling,
pulse in static, faith revealing.
Don’t ask me what’s fact or design
it’s all real when it’s mine.

Fluid

what is real? 👁️

"Anamorphosis" out november 1st

Soft Collapse

LOVUL

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