III. The Last Border Is The Body

The idol cracked but did not fall.
Its breath became sirens,
its eyes a million cameras blinking in time.
Every breath a census.
Every heartbeat a contract.

The tightness begins in the jaw.
A low electric ache that climbs behind the eyes.
Nerves misfire, screens flicker.
The reflection blinks a half second late.

Awakening with teeth clenched so tightly the gums bleed.
Dreams taste like copper.
The skin tightens, searching for a name.

The line moved inward.
Skin became frontier.
Veins, supply routes.
Cells, factories.
Thoughts, data points.

What we call safety, the stillness before the shock.
What we call care, a hand pressing us flat.
What we call mine, the brand burnt on skin.

The body is the last border.
When it breaks, the map is gone.
The grid forgets its own shape.
The fences turn on each other.
The cage learns what it held.

No fence. No grid.
Just the tremor of muscle misfiring attempting to obey.
Agony etched into flesh, splitting it open.
Every gesture suspended in endless calibration.
Every exhale counted but too shallow to sustain life.

A chorus of convulsing bone and sinew.
Metal folding under the heartbeat it tried to own.
The idol gasping through our lungs,
as it chokes on our collective screams.

Suffocation.