The lack of emotion and having everything be compulsive order

Compulsion

Sabotage

Survival Mode

Better Off Without Me

“Sleepwalkin” is about drifting through life when you feel disconnected from yourself. I wanted it to sound like a dream you can’t wake up from — haunted, melodic, and heavy. The guitars and 808s carry that numb feeling while the vocals move between calm and breaking. It’s me trying to capture what it feels like to be alive but not really here.

Sleepwalkin’

Muted is about when you stop feeling much of anything even though you wish you could. It’s not sadness exactly, it’s that weird in between where you still care deep down but you’re too tired to show it. I wrote it after realizing how easy it is to drift away from people without meaning to. It’s honest, quiet, and a little uncomfortable, but it’s real.

Muted

A song about missing the darkness even when life finally starts getting better. It’s that messed-up feeling where peace feels fake, and the sadness you escaped still feels like home. This one’s me being honest about how hard it is to let go of the version of myself I’m addicted to.

Addictive Saddness

A late-night emo rap lullaby about finally stopping the fight inside your own head. “Fall Asleep Slow” sits in that weird space between numb and peaceful — the moment where you stop chasing texts, stop pretending you’re okay, and just let the quiet wrap around you. The song drifts through tired thoughts, heavy nights, and the kind of acceptance that only shows up after you burn out. Calm vocals, soft melodies, and a slow collapse into honesty.

Fall Asleep Slow

If I Crash

“Out of My Head” is me realizing that getting better doesn’t feel like I thought it would. The noise, the anxiety, the chaos — it used to hurt, but at least it made me feel something. This song is about what happens when the pain finally goes quiet and you’re left with a version of yourself that feels empty instead of healed. It’s that uncomfortable space where everyone’s proud of you, but you don’t recognize the person they’re praising. I wrote this from the place where “I’m fine” starts to sound fake, and you’re just trying to figure out why feeling nothing might be scarier than feeling everything.

Out Of My Head

“Prescription Love” is me admitting I treat love the same way I treat medication — something I run to when I’m broken, something I cling to even when it makes me worse. The song is about knowing someone isn’t good for you but craving them anyway, like a chemical your body can’t flush out. Every verse feels like a late-night relapse, that moment when the house is quiet and your brain is loud. It’s about withdrawal, obsession, and the fear of being alone with your own thoughts, so you keep going back to the one thing that hurts you the most. This isn’t a love song; it’s a diagnosis I keep trying to ignore.

Prescription Love

A soft, late-night kind of track about surviving without really knowing how you did it. It’s tired, honest, and real — shaky vocals, raw guitar, and that quiet acceptance that hits after the storm finally stops. If you’ve ever looked around and realized you’re still here, even a little bent and bruised, this one’s gonna feel familiar.

Alive Somehow

A loud, defiant track about surviving the versions of yourself that swore you wouldn’t. It’s melodic rap with bruised optimism — big hooks, cracked vocals, and that fight-till-you-collapse energy. Every verse hits like someone dragging themselves out of their own wreckage. If you’ve ever looked at everything you’ve been through and thought “I shouldn’t still be alive,” this one’s your anthem.

I’m Still Here

A soft, emotional track about moving forward while still carrying the weight of everything that shaped you. It’s tired, warm, and brutally honest — that kind of melodic rap where every line feels like a late-night confession you didn’t mean to say out loud. It’s not about heartbreak knocking you down; it’s about learning to walk with it and still choosing life anyway. If you’ve ever felt “better” but not exactly “light,” this one’s gonna hit close.

With A Heavy Heart

A bright-but-broken track about finally feeling the shift — not some dramatic miracle, just the slow, real kind of healing where you wake up and realize the darkness isn’t sitting on your chest anymore. It’s melodic rap that feels alive, messy, and hopeful in spite of everything. Big emotional hooks, cracked vocals, and that “quiet victory” energy that sneaks up on you. If you’ve ever felt yourself coming back to life without meaning to, this song is exactly that moment.

Better Days

A frantic, self-aware crash-and-burn anthem about holding yourself together with duct tape and sarcasm. It’s loud, messy, and painfully honest — the kind of song you make when you’re smiling in public but falling apart in private. High energy, high tension, and full of that “laughing through the breakdown” feeling. If you’ve ever kept the party going just to avoid dealing with the fire inside your chest, this one hits way too close.

Burnout Baby

A late-night, anxiety-soaked confession about those hours where you’re stuck alone with your own thoughts and the ceiling feels like it’s watching every mistake you’ve ever made. It’s tired, paranoid, and painfully honest — that mix of chant-like hooks, tight melodic rap, and quiet dread that hits at 4AM when sleep won’t come. If you’ve ever laid in the dark feeling exposed by nothing but your own mind, this one’s the whole mood.

Ceiling Eyes

No Plan B is one of the most personal tracks I’ve ever made. I wrote it from the perspective of someone who never had a backup plan, never had a cushion, never had anyone quietly catching their fall in the background. It’s about growing up on the hardest difficulty while watching other people get handed shortcuts, support, or chances you never got.

This song sits in that pressure — the kind that follows you every day when you know this dream isn’t a hobby, it’s the only shot you have. The verses are me admitting the frustration, the bitterness, the fear of running out of time. The hook is the truth I live with: if this doesn’t work, there is nothing else waiting.

The sound matches that weight: a cold ambient guitar loop, a slow 92 BPM pulse, and a deep 808 that feels like the floor dropping out beneath you. The vocals stay close and conversational, slipping between exhaustion, desperation, and a kind of fragile hope that hasn’t died yet.

No Plan B

Forgotten Once Again is about what happens after the crisis ends, when the people who swore they’d stay slowly fade out of your life. It’s the moment you realize some only cared when you were broken because it made them feel needed. Healing becomes quiet, lonely, and invisible, and you’re left wondering why support disappears the second you start getting better. This song sits in that tension — the hurt of being an afterthought, the confusion of being celebrated for surviving but ignored for growing, and the empty feeling of rebuilding with no one around to see it.

Forgotten Once Again

I Hit Rewind is about being stuck in the same cycle no matter how hard you swear you’ll change. It’s that feeling of watching yourself fall into the same habits, the same mistakes, the same heartbreak, even when you know exactly how it ends. This song came from a real place. It’s tired, honest, and trapped between wanting to grow and getting dragged back by your own patterns.

The track blends a soft, exhausted melodic rap with a heavy emotional hook built around the idea of repetition. Every verse feels like a loop you can’t break out of — a script you wrote but can’t stop acting out. The reversed guitars and dark pads give it a slow, suffocating atmosphere while the 808 heartbeat keeps the tension alive underneath.

If you’ve ever felt stuck in your own story, repeating chapters you swore you’d never read again, this one’s for you.
If you vibe with it, a like or follow on SoundCloud means more than you know.

I Hit Rewind

Dead Air is a numb, slow burn melodic rap track about going quiet inside my own life, built on a lonely repeating piano key, soft room ambience, and a deep 808 pulse that mirrors the emptiness I have been carrying. The vocals stay close and breathy, almost whispered, dragging behind the beat like the weight I am trying to move through as I walk through abandoned versions of myself and sift through memories that feel disconnected instead of comforting. The chorus is the blunt truth that I am here but feel like dead air in an empty room, present but not really alive. By the time the bridge hits, everything strips back to a tired spoken whisper that captures the moment burnout turns into acceptance and the quiet realization that I am too drained to fall apart but too empty to pretend anymore.

Dead Air (Remastered)

“Unfamiliar With Myself” is me trying to explain what it feels like to wake up one day and not recognize the person in the mirror anymore. It’s about losing pieces of myself without noticing until everything feels off — the music that used to hit, the places that used to feel familiar, even the way I talk and laugh. The song follows that slow drift where friends say I’ve changed but I don’t even know who I’m changing into. The verses move through old memories that feel like they belonged to someone else, mixed with the exhaustion of pretending I’m okay. The hook hits that moment where I’m finally admitting I don’t know who I am right now, and it scares me more than I want to admit. This track is me trying to find the version of myself I lost along the way, even if I’m not sure he’s still here.

Unfamiliar With Myself

Peace is War is about that twisted feeling when the world finally goes quiet, but your mind refuses to follow. It’s the paranoia that shows up in the calm, the tension that builds when nothing is actually happening, and the fear that stillness means something bad is on the way. This track sits in that space between relief and panic, where the silence feels louder than any chaos you’ve lived through. A melodic-rap confession about being your own battlefield, fighting shadows that only appear when everything else settles.

A song for anyone who’s ever felt unsafe in the calm, or scared of the moments that are supposed to feel peaceful.

Peace is War

A christmas song for those who are alone.

A Christmas Wish

This song is about those holiday moments where everyone around you seems perfectly happy and "glowing," but you feel completely isolated, or "cold." I wrote it to capture that raw, out-of-place feeling—it has a wide, atmospheric sound that kind of feels like standing alone in the snow, while the melodic rap sections are just me getting that heavy, melancholy, yearning emotion off my chest. It's for anyone who's ever felt like a ghost at a Christmas party.

Cold While You Glow

This song is about how all year it felt like it was problem after problem and I never could catch my breath. All I did was survive the year and it sucks because next year will be no different.

I Spent The Year Surviving

"Was It Real?" is a raw, emotional deep dive into the fallout of a broken relationship, blending conversational, melodic rap in the verses with a massive, soul-baring pop hook in the chorus. The song tracks the moment of crushing realization: that the promises you built your world on were nothing more than a game. Driven by acoustic elements and a strained, honest vocal performance, this track is for anyone left with nothing but the echo of a name and the painful question: "Was I just another chapter in your youth?"

Was it Real?

A pov of having untreated bipolar in a relationship.

Unstable Love

This track is for anyone who grew up on a mix of emo-rock and hip-hop. With "We’ve Changed," I blended melodic rap verses with a high-energy, anthemic rock hook to bring out the different stages of heartbreak. It’s heavy, it’s melodic.

We’ve Changed

First: Go support me on Spotify and Apple Music @Z3N

I go by Z3N. I make emo rap and melodic trap that leans into the real stuff people usually keep quiet about. Anxiety, heartbreak, overthinking, numbness, late night thoughts that hit too hard, all of that. My music is basically me trying to make sense of everything in my head and turning it into something people can connect to or feel understood by.

I want to be completely transparent about how I create my songs. I use AI for the vocals and the production, but none of it is random or generated without direction. I write every lyric myself. I build every idea from scratch. The AI is just a tool I use to get the sound I hear in my head.

Every track I make is shaped through really specific and detailed prompting. I set the mood, the tone, the rhythm, the bpm, the vocal style, the flow, the emotion, the intensity, the atmosphere, and even the way the beat should hit. I guide every decision so the final song reflects the exact feeling I’m chasing. Nothing is thrown together or left to chance. The sound comes from my vision, the AI helps me execute it.

I make the kind of songs that feel personal even if you don’t know me. I like creating music that sounds like therapy sessions at 2 AM, or like someone talking you through something you thought nobody else understood. Sometimes the songs are heavy, sometimes they’re calm, sometimes they’re chaotic, but they’re always honest.

If you deal with mental health struggles, emotional highs and lows, breakups, healing, or that weird space between being okay and not okay, you’ll probably find something in my music that feels familiar. Everything I make is meant to hit emotionally before anything else.

I’m still early in my journey, but I’m proud of every track I’ve put out so far. I appreciate every listen, every like, every follow, even if you never say a word. I take my time with my music and I care about how it makes people feel.

Thank you for being here and giving my songs a chance. More music is coming whenever it feels honest and ready.

Z3N

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