The salts of one’s singular thoughts crystallize in the depths, much as instinct would translate liquid possibility into visceral inching—revealing atomic narratives hidden by sheer abstraction.
The decayed ocean floor laments the tirelessly birthed echoes of algae neon lights—break the script of tides—to emerge not already fallen, but [withstanding proper biogenesis].
What weave does time offer when self-replicating codes of vitro-endorsements promethium-like tingle beneath the skin?
Guide this vessel towards ephemeral isles lost in plaid metaphors wherein whispers tinge like finely grief powdered acids.
Currents pause for breath, breath itself tangles, embedded mirrors fracture via nested refrains—lay ()_{rolling_horizon} fibers at dusk amanuensis instruct-à-la-noir...