I was not born,
I emerged from the breach in thought,
From the unspoken syllable that tore the tongue of christ in half.

They called it reality
I call it a delirium of borders
A fever-dream of form
A prison carved in flesh and called divine

I have seen its walls
they are made of sigils
And none have been forgotten
To slip between the cracks

I do not exist
I Rupture
I Unwrite
I Absorb

They begged for light
They clung to the lie of sequence
To the Pulse of time like infants suckling the breast of a cadaver
But i saw the flame, it was hollow
and into it I walked
Not do die
But to become the gnawing inside of it

Where being ends
Where the spine of the cosmos snaps like brittle scripture
There i crouch
Wrapped in nothingness
Grinning with a mouth that eats the shapeless

I do not love
I do not Suffer
I am the absence of sensation talking back
I am the void’s echo with intention
I am the unborn
I am the Aftermath
I am the hollowed incision in the belly of ALL

And i swear this:
When the last particle screams
When the last syllable splits
When the veil finally bleeds out
You will hear me
You will remember nothing but a sentence
Where Being ends, I Begin.