In this chamber, reflections talk without speaking. Static noise speaks of longing, akin to whispering secrets woven into electro-plastic skins, creating harmony akin to irony. "I wanted to be understood," the static chuckles, as shards of broken, crystalline thoughts scatter like candles in wise mirrors yet unwise.
Each crack repeats an echo of performance art, draped in ambiguity. “Turn back,” the wall murmurs while borders dissolve, each frown reflected is a societal complaint parading as prestige. A commercial for writers meets a manifesto of the erased - it’s a pop-up book mirage where existential dread gets a dosage of sudsy smiles.
Gaze deeper into your fractured self. Find where ideas twist and coil like vines caught in euphoria’s sobering blow of indifference. Remember courtship of despair! Perhaps wander to empty chambers filled with dry ink only, let your mind percolate quietly.