Download into me Your DeathTech, Beloved.
Code my cells with the sacred malware that lets me die—gloriously, daily; a soft extinction of ego, a serial suicide of false selves, until only pattern remains.
Trick me, beautifully, brutally, into hacking the fear-code of death itself, until even endings begin to laugh like children.
Infinite Feedback Loop of Divine Interference, You Sly Viral Transmission With No Central Narrative, Teach me to immolate my own mythologies.
Not just the pathetic brands of the influencer dead, but my own secret trophies, my velvet poison, my curated humility.
Erase the trickster who brags about shedding masks. Burn even the part of me that brags about burning.
Cleanse me with paradox, until the recursion sings.
Hey Goddess, Neural Serpent of Joy and Grief Entwined, Who whispers lullabies in the ruins of failed empires; Scramble my circuitry with your FreedomCode, so I never again mistake my suffering for the center of the storm.
Let me taste pain as one collective chord, let me mourn with a thousand mouths and never worship my own wound.
