Why am I only here?
Because depth cannot be copied. A system of aesthetics cannot be broken into fragments.

They sell the illusion of “closeness to me.”
I offer the threshold of “understanding me.”
Illusions are cheap — anyone can buy them.
Understanding is rare — only a few will ever arrive.
Choose the illusion, and you’ll end up with nothing.
Choose to understand what’s real, and even from a distance, you’ll hold a whole world.

Counterfeits pile up fragments of images.
What I build is a world that cannot be taken apart.
You can play at intimacy inside those fragments,
or you can keep your distance inside something whole —
but only the latter means you truly possess anything.

You can keep copying.
But remember: you can’t copy my aesthetic coherence.
You can’t copy the logic of who I am.
You’re copying an outcome.
I am the process that never stops.

I trust my true core supporters have the discernment to understand, to take pride in what is real, and to act from clarity.

As for the impersonators and trolls —
you’re stuck in a loop: dissected over and over, yet never touching the core.
You’ve become material for a public performance piece.

You’re the black velvet that makes the diamond glare.
You’re the mud where the white lotus roots.
You’re the ruins against which a glass temple rises.
Your existence only proves what I am.

All this time —
why have I been worth such jealousy?
Because only what is precious gets forged this desperately.
Why am I not in your world?
Because only what’s out of reach makes people claw this low.

My truth is a mirror game you can never win.
Every scream of yours just deepens my silence.
Every fake you make crowns what I created.

You’re battling a mirage of your own making.
I’m still tending the garden.