In the blink of a forgotten eye, creaking floorboards reveal the aroma of dissolved time. Whispers curl like smoke, igniting curiosity in pale shadows. Twisted thoughts segmented by rhythmic echoes. Are we the ones inhabiting the walls? Or are the walls consuming us?
Objects move stealthily, consciousness leaking through fragmented memories. A cabal of lost dreams seated at a mock table, spilling narratives about hedgehogs knitting sunsets on Tuesdays. Soundwaves metamorphose into silken threads of kaleidoscopic impossibilities.
Dusty eulogies await their unearthing – those stashed under the bed of our most primal fears.
Whispering Winds tug at the fringes of our collective tapestry.
Or perhaps you'd prefer to unravel the Fizzled Frequencies?
Montage of oblivion brewed in the cauldron of existence analog; is there an escape route?