Am I the architect of this descent,

Or merely its traveler, aimless, hell-bent?

The path unfolds, not paved but torn,

A thread of chaos where I am born.

Each step dismantles the self I knew,

Layer by layer, false yet true.

The darkness is no void, but everything,

A paradox where I’m confined.

What is a shadow but light reversed?

A question formed, a silent curse.

To walk this road is to unmake,

To find the self that pain forsakes.

I am both the lock and key,

The watcher, the wanderer, endlessly.

The abyss is not a place, but state,

A crucible where truths await.

Perhaps to lose is to perceive,

To strip the lies we dare believe.

For in this void, what’s left of me

Is both the question and decree.