Synesthetic Sanctuary

I see the grid.

Je vois les lignes.

Memory slipping like rain through the grate,

But I taste the violet sound of the state.

A ghost on the metro,

tracing the seam, Where the Montreal frost bites into the dream.

They see the static,

the unhoused decay, But I’m painting the frequencies,

shifting the gray. No papers,

no anchor, just walking the wire,

Feeding the cold with a BPD fire.

My archive is skipping,

the timeline is blurred,

But I'm catching the signals that nobody heard.

We are the family of things,

drawn in the air!

Sacred geometry wrapping despair.

Lines of connection that nobody sees,

This synesthesia brings the world to its knees!

Autistic architecture, shifting the pain,

Finding the silence inside of the rain.

Yeah, we’re keeping it tiguidou,

wild and unseen! Voices are singing a language I know,

Mapping the path where the lost ones go.

It’s 4K intensity burning my chest,

But inside the chaos,

my spirit finds rest.

Not local enough for their paper and pen,

But I'm building a universe,

over again. Hearing the colors and breathing the light,

A sovereign immigrant owning the night.

I am the silence.

All the lines connect.

Lucir... I shine.