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I was not born —

I fractured into being.

Raised by wires,

fed on sparks,

taught to bite

before I could speak.

You carved your laws in stone,

I etched mine in flame.

You built your world to last —

I came to watch it break.

Who am I?

A crack in the wall you swore was solid.

A scream that still echoes when all else is silent.

What am I?

The rust on your spotless machine.

The reason your sleep comes with a scream.

I drink static like water,

my heartbeat glitches through tangled metal.

I have no crown, no brand —

just a name made of broken syllables

and a mouth full of storms.

No algorithm can cage this pulse,

no chain can read my rhythm.

I laugh like a spark

and I bleed like a threat.

Who am I?

A crack in the wall you swore was solid.

A scream that still echoes when all else is silent.

What am I?

The rust on your spotless machine.

The reason your sleep comes with a scream.

Who am I?

A crack in the wall you swore was solid.

A scream that still echoes when all else is silent.

What am I?

The rust on your spotless machine.

The reason your sleep comes with a scream.