The figure stands flayed and weightless, skin stretched thin over the brittle scaffolding of a body that forgot how to hold itself together, arms outstretched like some forgotten god waiting for worship that will never come, sunburst skull grinning in the aftershock of an explosion that took everything but left the twitching husk of persistence, legs tapering into shadows where feet should be, floating in the void between collapse and resurrection, whispering through the cracked teeth of a dying prophet that to be emptied is to be free, that guts are just another burden, that glory is a hallucination burned into the backs of closed eyelids when there's nothing left to lose.
