𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗵 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟱, Berlin

To dwell in the dark —
not as absence, but as a living field.
Light does not illuminate — it pierces,
tracing the quiet violence of becoming.

 

In the depths, the shield is gone.
Everything has dropped; everything is ending.
The future dissolves into shadow.
Darkness expands — a space where sight falters,
where the self becomes unrecognisable.

 

The doors of the past stand open.
Echoes drift through the body,
voices without faces,
a chorus of what was silenced.
Pain becomes a weight,
a slow gravity pressing on the skin —
the residue of what was unseen, unheard.

 

The unconscious speaks in a language
that resists comprehension.
To enter it is to dive into the abyss,
to surrender to pressure,
to the pulse that lives beneath control.

 

Still, light moves like memory —
irregular, almost organic —
as if the shadow itself were materialising,
the disowned, the feared, the forgotten
rising gently to be seen.

 

There is no confrontation here,
only emergence.
The shadow is not monstrous,
but spectral —
a soft visitor
at the threshold of recognition.

 

Vulnerability becomes alchemy.
It turns absence into form,
fear into emergence.
What is feared
is what gives shape.
The image does not resolve —
it endures,
holding still
in the storm of becoming.