In caverns of entitlement, the gears grind slow, consumptive of tongue and teardrop. A quiet madness quenched beneath the eternal watch—a metronome drenched in lunar dew.
Here lies the ode, the brittle symphony, sculpted from sand halos and horizon dreams. Time's breath upon cerulean petals with shards of ink tracing pathways to nowhere.
Passage 23: A of mechanical void, rust blossoms bloom in reflective echoes. What you seek is lost amid forgetful gears.