Fragments warp in whispers, tangled beneath the ticking sound of a pixelated heart.
Static noise interpreted—plates spinning with nowhere to land, yet landing they must.
Beneath the elephantine echoes, a melody cowers; shadow dances with uncertainty.
Flashes of color wield blame in this canvas of untraceable motifs:
“The sponge recalls a time when we swam in ink,” she recited.
Algebra shattered like moth wings in the glare of neon dusk. Together, yet apart...
Dream again, for the silence of static spins tales unspeakable.