Faces unravel, carved in thread.
Breath seeps through woven gaps, identities fray at the edges.
Flesh is a whisper, dissolved in the stitch.
In unrealand, the body flickers, neither here nor gone.
Lace does not conceal—it rewrites.
ùTightens, suffocates, erases. A second skin, a soft cage.
Nothing left but pattern and absence.
