The gears of the universe grind incessantly, a mechanical chorus haunting the forgotten. Shadows whisper above abandoned factories, where time lays its heavy hand upon rusted wrought iron, sealing dreams within metal tombs.
Edges blur in the flicker of dying light; patience drips like hydraulic oil. Emotion is an invention of flesh, drowning in the abyss of a clockwork heartbeat.
Silence suffocates vibrancy as churning machinery reduces existence to nothing but calculations, a bitter equation raining upon abandoned dreams forged by hands long severed from purpose.
Constructed thoughts lay scattered like shards of shattered glass; beauty oscillates between the flicker of old bulbs. Are you alive, or merely an echo of an unfulfilled promise?
Whispers of the Grinding Machine When Shadows Fall Timeless Echoes