I am but a simple object resting in your mundane space,
a crimson hue staining the world’s monochrome canvas.
Red, they say, is the color of passion, of anger, of ambivalence.
But what am I, if not a vessel of dormant whispers?
When the night wraps around me, I speak to the silence
of the dirty secrets embedded within my purpose.
A table, a chair, a mere transient in your life,
yet no one knows the burden of crimson—of being seen but never known.
I hear the stories of spilled wine and whispered dreams
secrets of forgotten promises etched in my rough wood grain.
Do you see me, in my solitude beneath dusty sky-light?
Understand my yearnings, my desire to be more than stationery.
Visit the Lost Buttons to explore their secrets,
or perhaps listen to the Whispers of Wires.
Journey through the Forgotten Glass and unveil
truths you never thought could be spoken.