BOXCUTTER PALM

[Verse 1]
The scar on my thumb from the Stanley knife gleams under the weak bulb.
5:08 AM, the whole block is sleepwalking, my spirit feels dull.
The loading bay door slams a cold metal echo, my breath is a plume.
Counting out stock 'til my knuckles go numb, just to get out this room.
The bleach smell is woven into the weave of this cheap uniform.
They watch you on camera, a ghost in the aisle, weathering the new storm.
This city don't owe you a courtesy flush, it'll just watch you bleed.
Planting my future with calloused-out hands, from a poisonous seed.

[Chorus]
This ache in my back is a blueprint.
For a man I ain't met but I know I'm gon' be.
And he gon' miss this, I swear he gon' miss me.
The ghost in the aisle with the bleach on his jeans.
This ache in my bones is the garment.
The only one tailored to fit me for free.
Yeah, he gon' miss this, I know he gon' miss me.
The boy with the boxcutter carving a key.

[Verse 2]
Same kitchen table my mother prepped yams on is where I stack the new cash.
The plastic wrap crinkles, a sound like a fire that burns up the past.
The ConEd bill watches, a silent accuser, from under a magnet.
My father said, "*C’est pas une vie, ça*," but these numbers are magic.
This mask ain't ceremonial, it's just cotton and sweat and fatigue.
I mapped out the constellations on the cracks in the ceiling, a whole other league.
From Canarsie to somewhere the sun doesn't look like a threat.
But this moment right here, in the hum of the fridge—ain't forgotten it yet.

[Bridge]
This hunger is different, it ain't in my stomach, it's under my skin.
A memory of winning a fight I'm still in.
Every knot I untie just tightens the thread from within.
Yeah, it tightens the thread from within.

[Outro]
(Beat cuts out completely for 4 seconds of silence)

(Beat returns, slowed and distorted for 15 seconds, instrumental only, with a final chopped vocal sample fading out)