The Saint Below

The Saint Below

Abusing my joke—pulling darker than humor, again, in loops.

A habit. Chosen. Not slipping—cutting.

Let’s have a great boost—

or crack the ceiling and call it sky.

Not trading shoes.

Not Suzy.

Not Sandra.

Nobody walks this floor but me.

Even I hesitate.

We crash corners, spit, glow lo—

still up.

Free verse.

Key forms.

Doors—forced.

Hope—

where walls forgot windows.

Cosmos—

wrong hole again.

Fall > arrival.

Rabbit?

Home?

Doc?

Miss the question.

Lust—

still here.

Same hunger.

New address.

Nine loaded—

ozone sealed.

No exit upward.

Contained.

Contained again.

Elder.

Raised early.

Wisdom—heavy.

Spent young.

I’m creepy.

Known before said.

Maze—mine.

Walls—answer back.

You don’t get me.

Keep it that way.

Funny—

until it fractures.

Trigger.

Traps.

Cards.

Joke dies fast.

Joker—

must laugh.

Reflex.

Hands—

remember.

Skin stores memory.

Blue sweat.

Swear—

swallow it.

Deformity—

kept.

Payback / paycheck.

Same act—

split value.

Ace.

Held.

No steps.

Only print.

Marks—

left deeper than intent.

Doors—

slam inward.

Don’t look.

Not in your flesh.

Not yours to map.

Cracks—

no airbag.

Mid-fall.

Protection—dropped.

Hashtag—

dash > sentence.

Symbol > speech.

Pen signs.

Piece given.

Slam.

Drift.

Slither.

Never clean.

Same place—

wrong light.

Shades—

collapse to chance.

Out / in—

no border.

Black blood—

circulates.

A son—

misses me.

Born quiet.

Still reaching.

No skips.

Everything counted.

Depth—

needs distance.

Too close—collapse.

I give back—

bad.

Return stains.

Badges—

worn.

Displayed.

Moon—

spells slime.

Records don’t lie.

Sun—

spelled back.

Lineage marked.

Angel—

scarred.

Flight—

cut but present.

Good / devil—

watched.

No side taken.

Upward—

no waiting.

No ceremony below.

Prayer—

empty gesture.

Hands still fold.

We parted.

Clean break.

One of me—

hunts.

Tracks internal.

Justice—

kills itself.

Silver handshake.

Agreement dressed sharp.

Face—

silly.

Mask slips.

Language—

compressed.

Heat—

makes form.

Sinter.

Infinite—

in precision.

Held tight.

Desirable density.

Call of destiny.

Weight—wanted.

Bottom—reversed.

Summit.

Desirable density.

Call.

Summit.

Ritual.

Again.

Whole—

consuming.

No peace.

Only intake.

Consistency—

hollowed.

Shell stands.

Inside moves.

Sergeant—

destroys first.

Order through break.

Cure—

quiet.

Barely heard.

Dawn knight.

Between—

exact.

Not balance—

tension held.

Presence—

pressure.

Felt before seen.

Room shifts.

Destruction—

incoming.

Sensed early.

Light—

enters bone.

No surface.

Muscle learns.

Echo—

Universe returns.

Saint of Hades.

Both held.

No apology.

Nemesis.

Response.

Not origin.

Sisyphus.

Stone—

necklace.

Weight—

worn.

Choice—

claimed.

Change it.

Replace it.

Same stone.

New meaning.

Loop—

not imposed.

Held.

Owned.

Chosen.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Until it fits.

Until it shines.

Until it answers back.

The loop—

mine.

Choice.

To the Reader

This is not a poem that asks permission.

The Saint Below was built where rap and philosophy collide — not merge, not blend— collide. The sonic punch of the line break. The hook that doubles as a truth. The repetition that earns its return. All of it carrying weight that has no interest in being comfortable.

The streets have always philosophized.

They just never needed a classroom to do it.

This work is rap in its bones — rhythm, hit, internal rhyme, the kind of silence after a line that lands harder than the line itself. It is poetry in its architecture — compressed, layered, every word load-bearing. And it is philosophy in its refusal — refusing easy answers, refusing clean endings, refusing to separate the wound from the wisdom.

The saint here does not live above.

He lives below — in the loop, in the blood, in the prayer he no longer believes in but still makes.

And he chose to stay there.

Read it loud.

Feel where it enters the bone.

Rap. Poetry. Thought. One thing. No apology.