Lyrics:

Late text, “working overtime,” I believed it,
Now I’m home early—driveway crowded—two sets of sneakers.
Heart taps triple-time to the metronome of my doubt,
Front door cracked like your promise; I ease that handle down.
Kitchen chair overturned, jacket that ain’t mine on the rail,
Voices upstairs—your laugh—knife twist to the hilt of the stale.
Dusty gold frame of us on the nightstand facing the scene,
Funny how pictures stay loyal while real people leave.


Key in my palm feels heavy like a threat,
Best friend’s Air Max by your bed—sweat on cold laminate.
My pulse writes bars the radio can’t spin back—
In betrayal’s playlist there’s always one hidden track.


There’s no coming back once trust runs black,
No rewind on the lies you stack.
Two hearts off-beat, now the beat’s gone flat—
You drew the line, I crossed it—no coming back.


He says, “Bro—wait—let me talk,” like words fix detonations,
You clutch sheets high like courtroom declarations.
Windows closed, but the neighbors will hear destiny snap,
I’m Shakespeare with a .38 tucked in a denim strap.
Sweat tastes metallic, breathing chord-stabs minor,
I see your futures pixelate—both ghosts in my visor.
You designed this symphony of deceit, I’m the coda;
Trigger breaks silence the way thunder ends a sonata.


Cold steel choir, echo in a small room,
Memories leak, drown in their own perfume.
Red in the margins, story hits the last page,
Love spells backwards feel a lot like rage.


Floorboards still, clock frozen at the gun’s recoil,
Sirens harmonize with tinnitus, blue lights boil.
I whisper apologies to no one but the walls,
Every empire I built around you two finally falls.
Can’t outrun myself—blood prints on the hallway tiles,
Karma mirrors me back in a cracked bathroom smile.
I gave forever, you sold it for one cheap thrill;
Now headlines gonna quote me: “lover turned kill.”


There’s no coming back—candle’s burned to wax,
Love died twice under heart attack.
Heaven won’t answer, hell’s on track—
I crossed the line, we’re gone—no coming back.


No Coming Back



Wind whistle through a cracked row house,
Frying-pan prayers over pilot-light doubts.
Mama kept faith in a Folgers can,
Pop kept rage in a boxing stance.
I balanced both like a seesaw sin,
Ink spilled blood where the streets begin.
Camera phone glare in a midnight raid,
I narrate sparks when the fuse gets frayed.
Ghost of a sax in the alleyway hum—
That’s the soundtrack of where I’m from.

Voice of the verdict in a cul-de-sac sermon,
Pulled from the mud like an urban excursion.
Lungs full of red-line fumes, still learning
How to breathe in a system that profits on burning.
I’m the glitch in the census, pixel in the static,
Break the fourth wall with a bar that’s cinematic.
Self-talk savage, ego acrobatic,
Double-dutch cadence—bounce back automatic.
You want truth? Let the woofer translate it:
Bass so alive you can hear your debt shaking.

I hustle in Morse code—dot dash heartbeats,
Stockpile seconds ’cause the clock’s on shark-teeth.
All my reflections keep talkin’ in tongues,
Mirror gets cracked, revelation gets sung.
Every step seismic, epicenter in my chest—
Earthquake cadence while the city holds its breath.
My shadow outran me, came back with questions,
Now I ghost-write answers in the margins of confession.
If the crown fits crooked, tilt the whole throne,
Level every ceiling ’til the sky feels home.

Fold the map, tear the grid, let the drums reroute—
Basslines speak louder than the lies we shout.

Triangular Pulse

Plexadar

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James lucky

Patricio Puleio

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