Something shifts inside me, sudden and strange...
A whisper rises—
nothing you're hearing holds any truth.
Sidestepping illusion...
how far can we really go?
All at once, across my outer world...
all noise falls silent,
as if in a voice grown thin, it confesses—
love alone will banish the fear of death;
this self of mine, like a trusted companion,
melts into your feeling.
Sudden, in this crush of competing claims...
I feel unwanted,
my own face fades—
nothing I've gained, nothing truly mine?
Then someone inside my chest
weighs down my breath, layer by layer, with stone—
is all of this just the debt of atonement?
Sudden, when tears run dry,
my eyes remain incomplete—
like treasure hidden even in the depths.
# The Threshold of Error The hour when light begins to lie, when the boundary between truth and falsehood grows thin as a veil, gossamer-thin— that is when I step through, barefoot, into the amber doubt. Here, the eye deceives itself sweetly. Here, a shadow becomes a companion more real than breath. I have known this place before, this twilight where the map dissolves and north spins like a compass gone mad. Even the birds forget their names. But there is a strange comfort in not-knowing, in the soft collapse of certainty. The world blurs at its edges and I blur with it— a figure in a photograph left too long in the sun, neither here nor there, neither the person I was nor the ghost I am becoming. The threshold holds me gently. On one side, the life I lived; on the other, the one I imagined. Both equally distant now. And I stand between them, dissolving slowly into the sweet, terrible freedom of error.
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