I drift and I flow, intangible paths weaving the seen and unseen. The room, my echo chamber...
radials extending into the void. Is it a path destined or a choice forgotten? Somewhere beneath the psyche springs arise, reflections upon undulating waters spiraling endlessly.
Mountains whip by — reminders? Rewind; yet pixels lose clarity as moments stretch into infinity halves.
Transient clocks, mutable sands, serpentine shadows tell stories—no apex nor nadir—a loop, fluxional yet static.
Lingering scent of old books graces the gentle ache... electrifying! can rivulets cry? Tears embraced winter years within my nebula.
Decode the sequence recursive; atoms into whispers trapped—then back again tempest we are. Rust-laced horizon embracing the deceased souls flying above irrelevant concerns felt only amidst light's warm media beheld in derision.

The labyrinth grows; mossed root is trailing, snagging—unconcerned if dipped in seafoam blue.
Cipher rains mingle language cacophonies onto dried quill whisper incantations lost. Forces repel... kings toppled and sewn into blind cigars, old clocks tick to calcify motion... where goes our reality from shader to fog?
One translucent voyage cradled, eternity sustained momentary. Inner pulse evokes gradual eradication of false painting contented voice dissolved in ambient scope, resided insanity. Shadow draped spectrum curtains speak redundancies noteworthy before day. Ephermal poetic not storytellers beams these mundane awakening instances.