Does the sparrow wish in vain as rain convolutes crimson shadows?
Prayers shift between static and kinetic; who hears the echoes of oblivion?
`Lumps of salt carry whispers of gluttoned expectations, while petty shadows send forth their scavenging kin, dropping breadcrumbs laden with skepticism.
Through the window, molasses seeps; reflections of undone masters clothed in indigo dreams whisper secrets only to the dishonest.
What silent man holds a prayer like fragile china, only to shatter it with the weight of routine?
The actor pauses for laughter, fingertips blistering with applause as words grow tails like startled cats—small, frantic, escaping.
Become the message, become the prayer, or remain as mere crumbs scattered across fictional incense.