The crack is where the light lingers,
where the silence bends,
where the thread unravels just enough
to let the hidden scapes slip through.

Nothing perfect was ever real.
Nothing flawless was ever free.

A note stumbles, a rhythm fractures,
light folds into itself—
not broken, but honest,
not lost, but finding.

Chaos hums beneath the surface,
the pulse of something inside,
a truth too jagged to smooth,
too raw to erase.

Lean into the dissonance.
Let it carve the shape of what remains.