a sterile dawn

metal breath in frozen air

the system wakes

and so do i

i was molded into motion

taught to breathe in lines

hands trained for repetition

thoughts filed down to size

they fed me purpose

through a cracked display

said this is living

while the colors drained

pressure in the writing

static in the spine

every step rehearsed

but none of it is mine

i am not the shape you cast

i am not the voice you fed

from rusted skin and broken plans

i rise unfinished, not dead

i burn through coded lies

through silent rules and blame

i was never meant to fit

inside your clay made frame

mirrors built from expectation

faces staring back

every flaw magnified

every fracture stacked

they call it order

i call it decay

a polished cage

with no escape

i feel the weight

of borrowed names

a thousand roles

none the same

i am not the shape you cast

i am not the voice you fed

from rusted skin and broken plans

i rise—unfinished, not dead

strip the veneer

peel the steel

what’s left beneath

is raw and real

if i break

i break awake

not as a part

but as a threat

i am not the shape you cast

i am not the voice you fed

i am the absence in your plan

the flaw you never read

from silent rooms and severed ties

i claim what you denied

no longer clay in foreign hands

i choose the form inside

unfinished

uncontrolled

unowned

...the heat in the mold...