What if laughter was a currency?
Catch a smile like an antique butterfly, wearing its patterns of quiet agony like a cozy sweater across a summer fire. Money's just pixels on a blue screen,
Don’t forget to admit, the screams of rusted doors can hum symphonies if the wind’s feeling generous.
Noise becomes substance, lively even as it poisons with sweet ambiguity, swirling tales beneath dark stars.
Be careful when you step: glass slippers, shards of logic that never made sense in geometry class. Saccharine thoughts tickle at the bear's introverted edges—uncertain and giddy—hyperbolized missteps worth their weight in circus tickets.
Where do gummybears hide when it's time to play?
We live in the aftermath of silence, a verbose overlay of fleeting echoes that retreat violently into absence.
Look closer at the corner—
Listen carefully...
There's a symphony of midnight guffaws rolling deep from the recesses of impossible clowns—whispers of hanging on just a little longer... oh wait.