Light fails. Where do you go after the last echo slips beneath the floorboards? Anxiety drips like stale water. Tap, tap, drop—memories painting themselves on walls untraveled.
Do not trust the hum of machines. They know more than they reveal, whispering histories erased with the dawn. And the sidewalks twist like tortured limbs under the weight of lives undone.
Reaching for a door that cannot be found—each flickering light invites the mind to linger, dream-forward into the spiral, denying color as temperature gives way to feats of cold imagination. What is past and what is future?
Abandon expectation at the threshold; each fragment floats, suspended. Words—like ghost notes—clinging to fleeting frequencies, where the heart skips a beat unearthed a distant murmur of kindness in harsh landscapes.
Shattered reflections remind us of who we might become in this wild chaos, a tapestry woven tightly, comfortably dark. Are we bound to this inertia or boldly free to find meaning in blinking lights?