I’m the marrow in your doubt,
The splinter when you reach out,
Static in your clear transmission,
A fracture dressed as definition.

I’m the bruise beneath your pride,
The grin your guilt can’t hide,
A cipher etched in sleight of hand,
A kingdom built on shifting sand.

I’m the hunger in your feast,
The echo posing as the beast,
An atlas with no map to give,
The ruin in the way you live.

I’m the ache you chase to cure,
The flaw that makes you sure,
Not the ending, nor the start—
Just the shadow stitched to heart.