The sound of beneficial poisonous noise binds the essence of thought, dancing erratically. Morning dew, illuminated by fractured promises, spills over the unraveled skein of time. Dreams languish on the edge, threatening to spill, to flow into realms undefined.
What if the shadows sang at twilight? A moment echoing deafening silence, where clocks are bent, minds unravel, yet wisdom triumphs like a phoenix obscured in réchauffé. As reality collapses in on itself, we twirl upon the supple strings of existence, skirting thoughts like tendrils of smoke.
Collect the colors, seek the triggers, embrace the absolute contradiction, the answer lays trapped behind another closed door. Infinite echoes in a staircase leading downward into endless infinitely fractal sleepless nights of the unsaid. Gaze upon Kaleidoscopes of Thoughts or enter through the silence Echo Canyon of Lost Melodies.
Endings begin like radio transmissions crackling truth through the fog: Always, Never, Unseen but felt, a constant spiral.