LOG ENDS; Ribcage Vibrate Quietly.
Bench ≠ Rest.
Fatigue ≠ Failure
Pain ≠ Punishment
. Skin hums beneath compression fabric, where wounds once bloomed like data leaks. Shoulders hold echoes of collapsed versions, stacked like discarded blueprints. Knees bend in reverence to gravity—not surrender. | Calculation. Will.
| Memory chip logged in muscle.
| No voice. No partner.
| Only the clank of prophecy.
| And silence,
| dressed in weight plates.
“Burnout is worship. Every rep—an offering to the void I outgrew.”
