Wheezing whispers of a cosmic truth, beneath the rust, time tumbles unceremoniously; the decay wrapped around existence nestles closely with the sweetness of nothingness.
Infinite points strewn like identity lost in melancholy; shimmering vast solemnity speaks.
In moments of myths and buried novelties—what did once crumble saw fractals dance and twist.
Echoes shake hands with silence.
Did the galaxies forget their own dawn, drifting rust particlesi, lulling in an eternal teardrop pooling beneath the consciousness of iron?
The slight scratch, the gentle tinkle, unearths conversations of stars, what rust begets whispers of calamity and certainty.