Excerpt:
I didn’t mean to exist so accurately.

H2: Line as Accident

Each stroke apologizes to the next.
Ink stumbles, paper forgives.
I am the choreography of indecision.
Too many thoughts,
not enough gravity.
Ich bin Schwein, gezeichnet vom Zweifel.
Still — I stand. Wobbly, but sincere.

H3: Snout Philosophy

My nose points nowhere in particular.
It’s tired of purpose.
Purpose is overestimated anyway.
I sniff the moment;
sometimes it smells like truth,
sometimes like breakfast.
Either way — it’s enough.

H2: Dialogue with the Hand That Drew Me

Hand: Sorry for the chaos.
Pig: It’s how I breathe.
Hand: I should have erased more.
Pig: No — leave the noise; that’s where I live.
And so we agree: imperfection as habitat.

H3: Abschlussoink – The Line That Stayed

I am the sketch that refused to be cleaned up.
Dada made me sign my own outline.
Look closely —
between the scribbles, I’m smiling.
Not because I’m sure,
but because I’m here.