Chopik & Saphirae
Chopik Chopik
Saphirae Saphirae
Saphirae Saphirae
What if a sentence could bleed across a wall in neon and splatter like a storm of paint—would the words still whisper or shout? I’ve got a riddle in a verse that needs a splash of your chaotic color. Care to remix it?
Chopik Chopik
Drop that verse here, and I’ll splash it like a neon hurricane—words turning from whispers into a roaring, paint‑splattered shout.