“Failure Spiral // Witness Marks” is a blistered fragment from the edge of philosophical exhaustion — a poem that resists salvation with surgical precision. Cast in scorched economy, it unspools a mythic post-mortem of civilization, depicting a world not built but inherited — a residual loop of cascading failures mistaken for history.

The voice is not that of a prophet, but of an archivist trapped in recursion — mapping entropy with a cartographer’s detachment and a poet’s poison. In this world, survivors are no more than loiterers of meaning, spectral stewards of systems that have outlived their gods.

There is no crescendo, only a ritual of reckoning. Each line is a witness mark — the scorched etching of presence, absence, and the irreparable fracture in between.

The artist, known for rejecting ornate redemption and preferring the poetry of raw architecture, constructs this piece as both indictment and artifact. It is not a lament, nor a sermon. It is a sigil: burned into the consciousness of a species too late to evolve, too early to vanish.

Drawing on metaphysical absurdity, systems theory, and the brutal elegance of unfinished futures, the poem contorts language into a kind of relic — not to beautify collapse, but to encode it. It neither heals nor harms. It names.

Nirvana is recontextualized not as liberation, but as abandonment — a cruel exit strategy for those privileged enough to transcend. The poem resists this, choosing instead to stay behind, to write in the ash, to claw meaning from the wreckage not for salvation, but for testimony.

It is a monument to those who remained — not as heroes, but as interpreters of the glitch, unwilling to forget what broke, and too lucid to lie about what comes next.