Minds, hollowed—  
ghost-chambers echoing with voices that never meant to stay.  
They drag their claws along the skull  
just to prove they're real.  

These words don’t write.  
They convulse.  
They twist mid-thought,  
snapping like tendons in inkless pens.  

Thoughts bend—unnatural,  
like limbs forced backward in prayer.  
Each one a splinter lodged  
too deep to mourn properly.  

Pride calcifies—  
a stone swallowed out of habit,  
weighing down the throat  
until breath becomes performance.  

Deceit prowls the ribcage  
wearing kindness like a borrowed face.  
Swallow cheats  
beating empty—  
percussion without a pulse.

And still—  
the voices.  
Razor-rung, relentless.  
They gut the lungs from within,  
fill the chest with phantom limbs  
that clench when I try to rest.

This is precedent.  
This pressure.  
This loop wrapped in bonewire.  
Endless.  
Clocks without numbers,  
ticking inside the teeth.