"You hear that?

That ain't rain on your city... that's the sky wheezing.

They told me germs were too small to fight with...

...so I taught 'em how grief makes a virus grow teeth.

One touch? Your block starts coughing up rubies.

Two days? Your blood's screaming my name.

I don't need steel—I weaponize air.

Breathe deep.

Let my pain blossom in your lungs…

...like germs blooming into black dahlias.

This ain't a war.

It's your requiem."

"Mask on, beak full of death I exhale—

This black coat’s my burial veil,

Got the ‘bonic in my vial, my holy grail,

Turn your block to a mass grave, no trail…

I don’t stab… I inoculate pain,

Body bags stacking higher than my fame,

CDC file me as a biohazard name,

Rats in the walls whisperin’ my game…

"This the Quarantine Zone—ain’t no healin’ here,

Just the coughin’ of victims, the panic, the fear…

I prescribe madness—my syringe is a spear,

If you see my lamp comin’... the Reaper is near.

"They call me ‘The Curator’—I collect screams in test tubes,

Turn playgrounds to morgues with my aerosol truth…

My Black Death remix got new symptoms for you:

Skin crystallizes like ice—shatters when you sneeze in the room!”

("Let’s accelerate evolution… one needle at a time.")

"I don't need steel—germ warfare's my clip,

Leave your whole world sick off one fingertip...

But watch the sky cough when I unscrew this vial—

Turn clouds to contagion for miles and miles.

"It started subtle: a shiver, a wheeze…

Then the breeze got itchy—a neighborhood sneeze.

One kiss shared a fever, two handshakes spread the rot,

Watch the cough-clouds bloom where the innocent stood.

It skipped through windows on dust-mote wings,

Hit the subway doors—clang went the steel serpent’s sting.

Grandma’s lullaby? Now a wet rattle hymn,

Kids chalkin’ hopscotch over body-bag trim.

Yeah, my grief’s airborne—ain’t no cure, no cleanse…

Just hope’s ghost dancin’ in every last breath."

“Church bells choked on the last midnight toll,

Gravedigger’s shovel scrapin’ the soul-hole.

Empty cots lined like broken teeth,

Silence thicker than the lies underneath.

No saints marchin’—just the reaper’s low hum…

Crossed off the list. My work here is done."

"...Done."