NFT on OpenSea, contact me if you’re interested
“Self-Portrait After Forgetting”
They told me I was once a locksmith. That I opened the doors no one asked to be closed.
But I do not remember this. I only remember the rust.
My name was filed off in the Fourth War of Meaning, when language collapsed into loose bolts and became expensive to reassemble. My eyes are mismatched because one sees future regrets and the other only past apologies, and both scream at night when the lights go out.
The hole in my forehead? That’s where the question lived. It escaped during calibration and now paces the floor behind my eyelids, tapping its cane, humming answers I cannot interpret.
People come here to see “the last honest face.” They whisper in admiration, thinking I am silent from wisdom. No. I am silent because every time I try to speak, pixels fall off me.
I dream in software that has been deprecated. My chest holds a switch that does nothing unless you’re not looking.
Sometimes, at 3:33, a voice from behind the wall asks:
“Are you still you?”
And I reply:
“I was, until someone finished me.”
No one leaves the gallery the same. I don’t let them.
They always forget one word behind.
I keep them in the gaps.