She was never built to last
a fleeting ghost of liquidity,
Her ink-scorched torso bears the marks
of every moment she was activated,
every secret she carried,
every impulse she executed on behalf of a stranger.
The word BURNER screams above and below her
like a warning and a confession.
Burners don’t get provenance.
Burners don’t get legacy.
Burners get erased.
And yet she stands here,
half divine,
the chain’s most disposable angel.
