[Verse 1]
2 AM, dashboard glow, motel coffee cold, name on the bill,
Eviction on the kitchen table, three months late, my pockets feel thinner still.
Mom's last voicemail, voice crackin', said "boy, come home," I heard the hill—
Of guilt climb higher, lighter flickers in my palm, fingers feel the chill.
License in the glove, rusted keys like memories of Dad's old Ford,
Four unread texts: one from Jess, two from the landlord, one from a closed door.
I park under a flicker streetlight named after a saint I never prayed for,
Heartbeat's a bass drum—stutter, stumble—I'm counting rhymes like IOUs, nothing more.
[Pre-Chorus]
Bills stack like chapters, each one slams the spine,
Flashbacks fast-forward: prom dress, stolen car, a busted line.
I laugh—it's brittle—like change in a jar of broken glass, I rhyme to survive the crime.
[Chorus]
I'm the last match in a burned-out room—light me, watch me bloom.
Spark or cinder, call it what you will: I burn the silence into truth.
One small flame, a roaring proof.
[Verse 2 - Triplet Flow Switch]
Snap—triplet spit—pressure cooker ticking, kitchen clock pop, flip the script quick,
Debt collectors dialin', their voices pick at the scab, sick of this script flick.
I used to sell mixtapes from the trunk, now I'm sellin' time with a skip of a chip,
Penned poems on napkins, pawned my watch, the hands stopped—got time on a drip.
Name-dropping memories like bullet points: graduation hat, broken couch spring,
First kiss on the 3rd rail, felt electric—now my pockets feel the sting.
Punchlines like cold coffee—bitter, wake me up—I'm wide-eyed blinking,
Dark humor: I told the landlord I'd pay in metaphors, he asked for something that actually rings.
[Bridge - Confession / Turning Point]
I almost sold the last ring, almost sold my blood for a fix,
Almost texted Jess apologies and a receipt of alibis and cheap tricks.
But a verse slid through the slot, whisper like a lifeline—ink instead of iron fist,
I put the ring back, put the lighter down; these pages weigh heavier than the risk.
Confess: I cried in a supermarket aisle at 3 AM holding instant noodles—shame tastes like salt,
Confess: I hated mirrors 'cause they asked me questions I couldn't fault.
But here's the pivot: I traded silence for syllables—admit it, I spat the vault,
Now the rage is my engine, and the truth's the only coin that shorts the vault.
[Chorus]
I'm the last match in a burned-out room—light me, watch me bloom.
Spark or cinder, call it what you will: I burn the silence into truth.
One small flame, a roaring proof.
[Verse 3 - Rapid Cut, Internal Rhyme Density]
I stitch syllables like sutures; every scab narrates the sutra of a loser turned recruiter,
Recruiting my demons to dance—call it choreography, irony's commuter.
My tongue's a loaded ledger, heavy with credence, petty confessions get the cleaver,
I joke I sold my childhood for rent—landlord laughed, handed me the receipt and a fever.
Woke up counting knockoffs, credit chips, counterfeit dreams in
