Click.
Whisper: zero … three … five nine …
Static tastes like metal,
the night counts itself.

I live between frequencies,
apartment full of antennas and grief.
Each wall hums like a code that forgot its god.
Neighbors sleep; I tune their dreams.
Dial spins—
women reading digits in glass tones,
uno siete dos nueve, heartbeat slows.
Signal jumps, my pulse follows.
There’s poetry hiding in interference,
truth chopped to syllables.

Numbers tower, calling out names,
zero to nine, all sound the same.
Who’s on the line? who’s still sane?
Static love, electric chain.

They say those towers never die,
only change voices.
I caught my own echo last night,
spelling my sins in Morse.
Dit-dit, dah-dit, I translate pain,
feed it to the tape machine, rewind rain.
My pen bleeds code: 13-31, 08-88.
Every rhyme a coordinate,
every bar a latitude.
No chorus of crowds—just circuits that clap back.

Numbers tower, counting the gone,
ghosts on the band keep carrying on.
Turn the dial, lose your name,
static cradle, signal flame.

Night market of signals,
shortwave vendors sell nostalgia by the kilohertz.
A child hums the theme of old war reports,
I sample it, loop the fear till it rhymes.
Somewhere a spy forgot to die,
his code still feeds the sky.
I rap slow, syllables drag like smoke,
the beat cracks, meters broke.
All I own fits in a waveform.
All I am—transmission.

If you hear this, respond with silence.
If silence answers, you’re alive.
Repeat: zero… three… five… nine…
The tower hums—
I hum back.

Numbers tower, counting the gone,
ghosts on the band keep carrying on.
Turn the dial, lose your name,
static cradle, signal flame.
Numbers tower, calling out names,
zero to nine, all sound the same.
I fade in noise, I fade in code,
left-field heart on radio mode.

…– .– .– …
click. silence.

Numbers tower (Left Field Rap reload)

Yeah…
I thought it was talk.
Now the room smells sweet and wrong.

She said love was hunger,
I laughed, poured her wine.
Her eyes stayed still,
like heat before the crime.
Told me, “baby, taste this fire,”
I thought she meant desire.
But the air turned thick,
and my pulse climbed higher.

Slow it down, slow it down,
she moves like smoke around.
Voice syrup-thick,
words stick.
I can’t tell dream from fear,
she whispers, “you’re dinner, dear.”

The lights flick, kitchen red,
metal glint near the bed.
My laugh don’t sound the same,
mouth dry, forgot my name.
She hums a tune I never knew,
each note cuts clean and true.
Something’s cooking, smell of spice,
and I pray she’s joking twice.

Slow it down, slow it down,
she moves like smoke around.
Voice syrup-thick,
words stick.
I can’t tell dream from fear,
she whispers, “you’re dinner, dear.”

Walls melt, I taste the lie,
table trembles, reason dies.
Her hands too soft to hold a blade,
but love got rules she never made.

Slow it down, slow it down,
she moves like smoke around.
Voice syrup-thick,
words stick.
I can’t tell dream from fear,
she whispers, “you’re dinner, dear.”

Now I see what she meant that night.
Not love… appetite.
(repeat chopped 3×)

Slow it down (Chopped & Screwed Rap reload)

For ten days I'm in RELOAD mode, reworking all my creations from the past twenty days and transforming them into a different musical universe
The entire sound is in my hands. I write cyber poetry, produce, and compose every track ready for Immersive 3D. Every beat is crafted for spatial and next-gen headphones.
Intimate lyrics, total immersion, every track.

For 30 years I kept unfinished demos to myself, never letting them out. Now I finish what I start and release it the moment it’s alive.

New tracks tagged #Reversed Layers