In the abyss where gears grind and clocks whisper,
thoughts cascade like distant echoes of a forgotten time.
Steel tendrils reach, grasping moments suspended,
as seconds drip like wax from a lit candle's dream.
The heart ticks,
and with it, a rhythmic pulse of cryptic visions swirls,
while shadows dance, fractals in an opera of light.
Fragments of conversations, dissolving into the ether:
And here, the puppeteers of time untwist:
Fingers weave tapestries from stardust, stitched with whispers,
each thread a letter from the past sent to the mosaic of now.
As gears rust, memory corroding like forsaken dreams,
the silent explosion echoes in the labyrinth of the mind.
Explore further into Reflections of the Lost or Chimeras of Fate.