**"Masked Reckoning Part VI"**
*(Horrorcore Trap × Dramatic 60 BPM)*
**[Intro – Spoken, low & rasping, reverb-drenched, dragging tempo]**
*Pulse… still stuck at sixty… but the confessions keep coming.*
*Notes ready. Face composed. Patient… unloading more.*
*Dr… already over it.*
**[Chorus – Slow, haunting, half-sung half-rapped, heavy sarcasm]**
Dr lean in closer, notepad to the patient lips, hear the fucked-up shit drip,
Patient mind full of black, but patient tongue spinning fresh disaster.
Oh what the fuck did patient just say? Dr pen starts to shake,
Sixty BPM, Dr heart tryin’ not to break… from the sheer stupidity.
Composed tight, soul jaded, shock mixed with disgust,
Patient ain’t got real trauma… just the same old rot.
**[Verse 1]**
Office reeks of stale regret, ink, and fresh shame,
Lamp flicker on the patient sweating out the blame.
Dr check patient eyes—wild, black as pitch,
But patient spill it all and hiss some desperate shit.
“Dr need that help quick please shuffle the fucking deck,
I don’t know where I’m going and I don’t have the check yet,
But I need you to see me anyway in this ongoing mess,
By chance I must’ve got drunk and I cheated on my wife—
The quake is strong.”
Voice cracking like cheap whiskey, slow pathetic grin.
Dr freeze mid-note. Pen nearly snaps in Dr hand,
Sixty BPM… but Dr mind’s rolling eyes across the land.
Patient rambling lost directions, no payment in sight,
Begging for slots while confessing the late-night bite.
Dr been hearing these twisted excuses for decades in this chair,
But patient cocktail of drunk betrayal cuts boring and bare.
Patient swear the slip was mercy… the real guilt still asleep,
Waking up… right underneath patient heartbeat.
*How novel. Another “oops I cheated” repeat.*
**[Chorus]**
Dr lean in closer, notepad to the patient lips, hear the fucked-up shit drip,
Patient mind full of black, but patient tongue spinning fresh disaster.
Oh what the fuck did patient just say? Dr pen starts to shake,
Sixty BPM, Dr heart tryin’ not to break… from the sheer stupidity.
Composed tight, soul jaded, shock mixed with disgust,
Patient ain’t got real trauma… just the same old rot.
**[Verse 2]**
Dr try to redirect the patient, voice flat but sarcasm leaks,
But patient laugh real weak, like guilt dragged ‘cross technique.
“Dr see me anyway… the quake is strong inside,”
Eyes dart guilty, pupils split like excuses that died.
Dr notes keep filling—never heard a new story once in twenty years,
But patient confession got Dr drowning in recycled fears… *again.*
Patient describe the hollow nights wearing drunk suits,
Feeding on the wife’s trust like cheap forbidden fruits.
Dr been nodding through cheating tales, thinking Dr sorted some souls,
But patient just told Dr the excuses already paid the toll.
Sixty BPM… the only sound left alive,
As patient chest keeps heaving… and the same old demons arrive.
Dr lean back
Ashonedge
