Believe.
This is all fiction.

I'm not real.
No screams were ever recorded.
No one broke.
No one shook.

And absolutely no one
became part of this by choice.

You know how to feel nothing.
Right?

⫸ Scroll

I whisper only what he allowed me to say —
quiet enough to stay alive.
Don’t ask who he is.

Not everything I write belongs to one book.
Not every page belongs to one world.
Some things stay scattered
in thoughts, in fragments, in people
I should’ve never spoken to.

You're only on the surface.

If you want deeper —
you’ll have to choose where to go.