Whirring echoes in the backdrop of eternal stillness, fragmented,
interrupted by static whispering like an old radio in a forgotten attic.
The ceiling above your consciousness is a whisper—
flickers of light captured in glass jars, glowing gently
under waves of unwritten words: keeps turning, turning...
Noise and silence colliding, a riddle unsolved, restless.
Click to descend further
into the labyrinth of meaning, through paths less dire,
where time weaves stories in every crack of wood,
seeking unmarred dreams in hollow echoes of night.
Reality warps under the press of eyes
blink without knowing whose vision it serves.
Grasp threads of silk spun by unseen hands,
unraveling truths concealed by half-truths and shadows.
They speak but the language is lost,
and the code is merely noise, glistening like dew in morning's slant—a cycle.
Pressing on, a step further in, a step aside into...
the quiet of mechanized dreams, sutured by starlight...