In a cathedral of ash and held breath,
a body bends toward its own unmaking
dark swallowing dark,
char closing the bones of light.
Red climbs upward, stubborn as memory,
like a final word caught in the throat,
gathering where a mouth once spoke
now only open,
only open,
only open.
The scratched words fade into noise,
truths etched in shadow
by a voice that could no longer carry them.
This is not a portrait of suffering.
This is suffering itself
each stroke a tremor,
each shadow a breath
that never found its way out.
- Object number
- 013.041
