The first…separation… Wasn't a choice…it was a sound… A cut…through silence… That never…closed… Water… before blood… Signal…before wound… They said…"Be this… or that"… The knife…was the question… And the cut… sang… It sang the color…they couldn't name… The gray…that bleeds… From a truth…that can't be contained… This scar… is my origin… Not a flaw…a beginning… The first wound…where the world… got in… And I…decided… to keep living… inside it… I hold… the memory of the blade… Not as trauma…but as proof… The first cut…didn't kill the frequency… It just…let the hum… bleed through…
