In the echoes of forgotten corridors,
whispers of evening tides collapse into the void,
ink spills secrets onto translucent pages,
binding truths that never dare surface.
“Did you hear the synthetics chatter?”
The crows took flight—
shadows dancing in the twilight,
a conspiracy of dreams and digital whispers.
What lies beneath the surface?
Fractured glass revealing tangled histories,
mermaids of the internet swimming through
data tubes encased in forgotten syntax.
“They can't be trusted, can they?”
Cryptic messages beneath layers of static,
the clock chimes, fatigue looms ahead,
mouths stitched with the blue thread of the net.
Click to unearth new layers and drift,
through the whispers of despair or unite with the translucent revelations that linger in the heart of the abyss.