i didn’t want to,
but i wrote anyway.
cracked open
like a shell,
flooding with memory.

some words
arrive as if they’ve waited
their whole lives
to be read.

"Archive Soul”
  
An archive opens:  
folder titles like breaths you forgot.  

Inside, your silhouette fractalised—  
flesh parsed into metadata.  

Memory = 84% accurate.  
Love = untagged.






.

i'm a lost soul,
ash for pieces,
stranded
with failures
that pray
in quiet memories,
to be remembered.