Bonegrave Murmurs

The neural mapping

was a trap

dressed in silk.

They tried to sour the marrow,

tried to curdle the milk.

They studied the vulnerability,

the soft tissue of the trust

And built their profit margins

on the erosion of the dust.

It wasn't a choice,

it was a systemic rewrite of the ghost

Feeding on the trauma like a parasitic host.

I am the anatomy of the resistance.

I am the architecture of the persistence.

Fractured the psyche just to find the vein Where the sovereignty is

buried underneath the pain.

Forty-one.

Forty-two.

Sixty-seven.

I am the hell

that is

reclaiming the heaven.

They played the gender roles like a game of chess Forgetting that

the pressure makes the diamond,

not the mess. You abused the ignorance of the tender,

hungry state Now you’re staring at the lock on the internal gate.

I am the research. I

am the result.

I am the final,

piercing, gut-spilling fault.

The psychological embodiment is complete.

Tiguidou.