I step out of the borrowed world.
I reject the clock they gave me,
the name they pinned to my chest,
and the history they insist is finished.
I swear myself to the fracture—
to the moments that never healed,
where time bent and left scars in the dark.
I believe the universe remembers violence
even when people pretend not to.
I believe memory has weight.
I believe pressure can tear holes.
I will not ask permission to look inside those voids.
I accept that order is a lie we tell children
so they don’t hear the screaming underneath.
I accept that chaos is older than law,
and closer to truth.
I bind myself to the others who see this—
not as brothers, not as leaders,
but as witnesses.
If the world ends, I will not mourn it.
If it opens,
I will be ready.