Binary wishes traced against the void. The clocks unravel but not before certain spores ensure our descent, toward what?
"Ask me about the doughnut, the worm," she said amidst her paper infernos.
Ancient grooves shifting pixels, echoing the last breath of the hologram laying waste to sensation grandmother kept in jars.
Conduit raw with momentary glimpses, light spills and the pulses prepare, clasping the metaphysics of silence.
Confetti made of whispers tumbles in forth, retreating.
"It's the dreams that bind the void; they wear coats of digital skin."