Mental Machinations

In the dim glow of a forgotten era, a mind forged of cogs and sins churns endlessly. The clockwork echoes whisper secrets only the very brave dare to acknowledge. Sculptures of shadows and whispers flicker in the twilight, their forms unnoticed yet ever so present. A ticking heartbeat, mechanical and unyielding, booms across the desolate expanse.

The very notion of time lies skewed, bent at the whims of this incessant arbiter. What once was a linear path is now a maze of fragmented moments—each a sculpture in its own right. The pendulum swings not, for it obeys no order known to man, only the silent thrumming of its own dark tune.