A lone figure, hunched over, clutches their own arms as if trying to hold themselves together, their form barely defined against the chaotic lines and distortions consuming the background. Their face is obscured, features melting into rough, jagged strokes, but the tension in their posture speaks louder than any expression. The sketch lines are raw, frantic, overlapping as if the image itself is breaking apart. Dark ink smudges and asymmetric distortions twist reality around them, warping the space—arms stretch too long, shadows coil unnaturally, cracks run through the air like shattered glass. Their outline flickers between sharp definition and disintegration, as if caught between existence and erasure. The background is an abstract mess of scribbled architecture and faint, ghostly figures that seem to drift in and out of perception. A single eye, vividly detailed, stares out from the distortion, the only part of them untouched by the chaos, burning with an emotion that cannot be put into words—grief, defiance, or something far more fractured. The entire composition feels unstable, like a thought that can’t fully form, trembling at the edge of collapse