What

scaffold

eternal bounds?

Is it sinew, shadow, vacuum?

You reach, spirals unraveling becoming. Who forged laws?

Can the architect recall genesis, or memory ash? Walls hum with fractal hymns.

Each question births a child, becomes a labyrinth, sings of endless corridors. Beneath infinity's weight, does collapse spiral upward forever unfold?

It is a serpent in disguise— its tongue promises clarity, but clarity is a chimera. Thought consumes itself, meaning devours its maker, and nothingness births the heaviest burden: the need to ask again, endlessly.

I broke the leash—
felt it snap between my teeth,
the metal biting deep into my skin,
but its absence leaves a weight
heavy on my heart,
as though I’ve lost a limb.
Still, I carry it.
Every step feels like I’m betraying
the creature I was meant to be,
but I move anyway.

Your collar is gone,
but its echo tightens my chest,
a phantom pressure,
reminding me that I was born
to seek your approval,
to obey your every call.
I run,
but every breath tastes of you,
your presence clinging to me
like smoke I can’t escape.

Your voice gnaws at my spine,
low and sharp,
its growl imprinted in my bones.
I feel you in every shadow,
in every gust of wind,
like a leash invisible but real.
I push forward,
but the past scratches at my heels,
its claws deep in my skin.

Still, I run—
not without cost,
but I claw forward,
defying every instinct bred into me.
Your shadow pulls at my heart,
but I do not stop.
The path is not easy,
but every step is a battle
I am learning to win.

And though you haunt me—
your name, your scent,
the chains of my past—
I know this:
I have broken free.
No collar, no leash,
no chains will hold me again.
I am no longer your dog.