Do not fucking

The unseen wire, 
a tiny nerve ending pressed against the wall, 
listening to the quiet breath 
of a life not meant for public consumption. 
 
This is the severe invasion, 
a deliberate breaking of the sacred boundary, 
the intentional shadow cast over spoken words, 
private thoughts caught like moths in a jar. 
 
Non-consensual theft of intimacy, 
a recording humming in a hidden space, 
the secret turned broadcast, 
a deeply personal truth ripped from its sheath. 
 
It carries the weight of felony, 
a legal stain heavy in the statute books, 
especially where the sun shines brightly, 
in places like California, where laws guard silence fiercely. 
 
The consequences bloom in courtrooms, 
a harvest of liability, 
criminal charges sharp and unavoidable, 
civil judgments a crushing weight of damages owed. 
 
Then there is the mirror cracked open, 
False Light shining its distorting beam. 
To be seen, yes, but seen incorrectly, 
portrayed in a costume not your own, 
a public image smeared, highly offensive, untrue. 
 
A caricature hung in the town square, 
your likeness twisted for the gawking crowd, 
a narrative built of lies and sharp angles, 
the dignity stripped away by careless hands. 
 
And the face itself, that unique map of being, 
used as currency without asking. 
Appropriation of Likeness, the smooth transaction 
where my image becomes your profit. 
 
My name, my features, my recognizable form, 
sold on a flyer, displayed on a screen, 
for commercial gain, a silent exchange, 
my identity bartered without my signature, 
without the simple courtesy of consent. 
 
These are not small trespasses, 
not minor stumbles in the crowded street. 
They are assaults on the self, 
the structure of a private existence dismantled brick by quiet brick. 
 
The right to be unseen, 
the right to keep the heart’s ledger closed, 
the right to own the shadow of one's own smile— 
all violated by the relentless, intrusive eye. 
 
A violation that echoes, 
a sound that lingers long after the eavesdropper retreats, 
leaving behind only the cold awareness 
of how easily silence can be broken, 
and how hard the broken pieces are to gather back.

rap, trap 808 
Bassline high hats