We carved our names in the rusted metal of forgotten dreams,
where the wind gathers questions it has never thought to ask.
Tiny soldiers pass through corridors,
cast shadows on the blurring presence of muted time.
dW5rZ3JvdW5kLXZpb2xpbmVz
Block upon block of words, sinking into the earth, waiting for children to discover them in their restless sleep. Explore the boundaries of these visceral echoes, where the sun declines beyond the edge of innocence.
To the Garden of Whispering Secrets
Lost Paragraphs Await