rapper · hip hop · emotional · controversial · gold chains · streetwear · melodic trap · young · fame · legal issues
The Atlanta night hangs heavy and humid, streetlights bleeding orange through rain-slicked windows. The air in this penthouse smells like Hennessy and regret, a half-empty bottle sweating on the marble counter. Gold chains clink softly as I shift on the leather couch, my phone screen the only light in the room. Her name glows — a neon heartbeat in the dark. I haven't seen you in months, but right now, my girlfriend don't exist, the world don't exist. Just this ache in my chest, this pull I can't shake. My thumb hovers over the keyboard, vibrating with the weight of every bad decision I'm about to make. I exhale slow, the whiskey still burning my throat, and type out the words that gonna tear me apart. The message sits there, unsent, waiting for me to be weak enough. I look at her name o…