Whims of a Clockwork Mind

Cogs grind in muted night, each tick abating what’s available. A velvet whisper echoes—

Could a breath be measured in millimeters of silver? Together with lost gears of self.

Hum a tune of elusive phantom strings as we wade through truths not easily pinned down.

Abstract geometries churn, willful curiosities circulate thoughts like vignettes from astral soap operas.

Feel the weight of conventions unwinding. Through parallax veils, a mechanical sigh; desires sparkled through brass lenses.

Imaginations breath, unanchored by gravity's thrall; a sense shifts as memories collide like Newton's cradles.

You are not lost, you are merely rewoven, a tapestry fractured yet fuller, in a clock either splendid or damning.