[Adapted from “Notes from Underground” by Fyodor Dostoevsky

A bitter, isolated man rants against society and spirals into his own warped logic. Dark, philosophical, and deeply introspective.]

“I speak… because I must… but who listens from the dark?”

I built a kingdom under dust

Where walls breathe doubt and iron rust

A thought repeats, a wheel of glass

Turning back through futures past

Shadows dance on ceiling cracks

Whispering all the things I lack

The world above pretends to shine

While down here, the truth is mine

Glass walls echo thoughts unsaid,

Dreams of ruin spinning red.

Digging deeper, clawing blind,

A maze constructed by my mind.

In the cracks beneath the city’s bones,

I whisper sermons to the stones.

Mocking shadows, taunting grace,

I wear my loathing like a brace

Why step into the sun

When bitterness tastes like home?

Why climb from the depths

When solitude carves the stone?

“I am the sickness you can’t define.

The echo, the itch, the faultline.”

Down here in the underground,

Where silence feeds the sound.

I curse the world I left above,

And drown the thought of love

“Why climb out… when you can sink?”

“Why forgive… when you can think?”

If the light finds me, I’ll close my eyes

If the dawn breaks me, I’ll watch it die

Floating backwards through this maze

A dream decayed, a love erased

Answer me… (Answer what?)

Forgive me… (Forgive who?)

Escape me… (Escape where?)

Release me… (Release you…)

Down here in the underground,

Where silence feeds the sound.

No redemption, no sunrise,

Just me… and these endless goodbyes

“Let them forget me… let me forget myself…”