ObservationThe mask is not a lie but a scar. A fossil of the self I sold. Beneath it, my face a map of debt, ledger of crude-tooled apologies to the Hive. I'm the clashing kinfolk, the white knight whore, a cobalt miner fueling a luminate sun. The Mask Maker sews me to the wire, but I've lost track of my strangled puppeteer. The Jubilee is a myth drowning the canopic gap. I want to bare myself but I'm wrapped in borrowed skin.
Tonight, I'll dance at the tree's demise and wear its bark as a crown. I'll call it freedom0.1639%
