The wind whispers tales of forlorn dungeons beneath, of shadows that danced with the flames of forgotten memories. Yet, on the shore, clamoring crabs scour the sands—merciless, resolute—the music of crunching shells drowned by the obliquity of existence.
Razors of sunlight report for duty while drownings echo only eternal; faces erased in the obsidian dreams of depth. Life, lept into foam, as the ocean’s breath suffocates notions of time. Within this quiet calamity lies forgotten voices, intermingled with salt and stories un told.
Floating through an expanse of liquid rhapsody, the organics of the mind undulate, surrendering coherence in exchange for colicky oblivion. Past bioluminescence has dimmed—points of light trade warmth for fleeting sparkles. Flowers of light nourish eyebrows poised over abyssal ink.
Find more such sojourns perhaps in: Spectres of Time, Whispers of Nebulae, or Pulsating Voids.