Bronie? CareBear? Cute but you sound like you’re cutting promos in a toy aisle. Call me King Nothing all you want, but the difference is simple: nothing is still more than what you are. And when I’m done, that’s exactly what’ll be left of you & NBK.
You think you’ve had me dancing? Nah, you’ve just been pulling strings on a puppet show nobody paid to see. Call me a toy if it helps you sleep, but toys get played with, broken, and thrown away. And when I’m done, you won’t be holding the strings, you’ll be tangled up in them.
I don’t lose sleep. I take it from everyone who stands across from me. Played with?Broken? Thrown away? That’s your reflection talking. You’re right about one thing: there will come a moment. And when it does, the only thing you’ll see is me standing over what’s left of you.
Original? Nothing about you has ever been original. You’re just noise dressed up as wisdom, remixing clichés like they’ll save you. Love you? Don’t flatter yourself. Obsession isn’t love…. it’s hunger. And I’m starving.
Remix, renovation, beat. It’s all just noise, Ryan. You dress up the same tired lines and call it art, but deep down you know the track don’t hit unless my name’s on it. You don’t set the rhythm here, you just dance off-beat until I cut the music.
Quoting Chuck D doesn’t make you lethal, Ryan. It just makes you a cover band. Louder than a bomb? Maybe. But volume doesn’t make you dangerous, it just makes you desperate to be heard. Bombs go off once… I keep going long after the smoke clears.
NBK running the world… cute fantasy. But the problem with spoilers is simple….they only hit if the story makes it that far. And with me in the picture? Your chapter ends early, sweet peach.
Imagine studying me this hard and still not being able to get rid of me. You archivist. I’m impressed kind of. Until you brought up Freefall. You intervened as usual, you wraskly wabbit. But don’t worry, your season is almost up.