Ömrüm

There's an eternal pull toward the abyss - not to fall, but to make sure fear is still alive. Every fall turns into an experiment, every mistake into a ritual of self-examination. Here, death doesn't frighten, but almost tempts: it winks from over your shoulder and offers a cigaret by the River Styx. It all sounds cold-blooded, almost philosophical - as if the apocalypse were happening to a beat, not to trumpets. The heart is a stone, the mind a cascade of cracks, but there's a strange balance in this crackling darkness. When you're your own enemy, but you still play fair - until the last bullet, until the last chance.