Beneath his heart,
a hunger grows.
not to survive,
but to feel alive.
He walks
between two realms:
the one within,
and the one that refuses to understand it.
The cosmos does not answer.
It only rearranges him.
Once, he felt nothing,
a body breathing
without presence.
Now he reaches
into the unknown,
hoping to bleed
into something real.
He fasted for forty days,
dressed in white,
and waited…
until silence
began to sound like God.
And perhaps,
that was enough.
Now it is only
him,
and destiny.
In his twenty-seventh year,
he bought his own shroud.
not as surrender,
but as remembrance:
that everything he chases
will one day end.
And when it does,
the clock will not break.
It will simply
stop.
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