"A moth's heart beats
400 times per minute."
Silent screams echo in forgotten voids,
where light is a distant memory...
...ever wondered why leaves shiver
under the weight of an unseen breath?
Time contracts in corners of silence,
where shadows whisper secrets of the past.
Do you hear the ticking? A clock
that forgot how to measure emptiness.
Fingers trace the contours of absence, each line a memory, each curve a forgotten truth. Beneath the surface, a restless tide of thoughts churns, breaking only to whisper, to scream in silent agony. The night is a veil, thick and impenetrable, and all that remains are echoes, faint and fading, like the breath of dawn on a winter's morn.