I wrote I Took the Long Way to Fall Apart in the quiet after the crash—except there wasn’t a crash. It was a slow fade: paint weathering in rain, bridges turning to smoke, “I’m fine” rehearsed until it felt true. This one traces the scenic route to breaking: guilt, reflection, ghost texts, the ache of realizing you’ve been slipping longer than you’ll admit. The hook keeps circling back—yeah, I’m still fallin’ apart—while the verses map the scars you collect when you don’t shatter, you just soften. If you’ve ever called exhaustion “normal,” if you’ve walked past your old life afraid to look in—this song is a hand on your shoulder in the dark.

Second chapter of Sleepwalking Season. Play it on a night drive. Tell me the line that found you.
(Explicit-adjacent; mental-health themes)

I Took the Long Way to Fall Apart

FAULTLINE (formerly Vox Astra) is the sound of someone still standing after the floor gave out.

The name doesn’t come from a trend. It comes from lived experience. Faultline is a trans musician, lyricist, and storyteller who turns survival into sound—crafting music that sits at the intersection of alt-rap, emo rock, spoken word, and atmospheric collapse. His songs aren’t clean, they’re honest. They’re the unspoken parts of healing, grief, identity, and mental health—captured in a raw, narrative voice that doesn’t flinch.

Growing up with trauma and silence, Faultline learned early how to translate pain into something rhythmic. He was raised by headphones, healed by lyrics, and found his voice somewhere between the static and the breakdown. He writes like a journal entry someone forgot to burn—emotional, sharp, intimate.

He pulls from a wide range of inspiration: the quiet poetry of isolation, the aching production of bedroom records, the emotional intensity of confessional rap and indie rock. Whether it’s slow-burning verses or broken-syllable choruses, every song is made to carry weight without asking for pity.

Faultline isn’t here to perform resilience.
He’s here to name it.

“I don’t make sad music.
I make music for people who lived through something and don’t know what to do with it.”
—Faultline

His work is for the ones who overthink in empty rooms, who wore hoodies in summer to feel protected, who survived without a trophy, and who carry stories no one ever asked to hear. It’s for the outsiders, the chronically tired, the quietly angry, the dissociated poets, and the ones who never quite fit the mold.

Faultline makes music that bleeds slow and lingers long.
He isn’t chasing the charts—he’s building a home for people like him. The ones who still shake, but haven’t shattered yet.

Welcome to the rupture.
Welcome to Faultline.

I Took the Long Way to Fall Apart

Faultline Kid