Untangle the strings of existence; accept the blurriness beneath your feet. Mirror, mirror—what identities flounder stirred in flashbacks? In realms where sanity vaporizes, every whisper holds weight. The ugliest truths, gold wrapped in cigarette smoke: an altar adorned tastefully with loss.
Conceive the round, swollen face of time transposed against the ticking nothing. Here, decay breeds revelation. Are we contents of classical melodies or mere echoes in a burnt-out chorus? Bells toll for no one; unsung praises resound uselessly in a prickling absence.
Linked branches of eternal transgression wrap around the silent heart, squeezing thoughts like air from expiring stars. Truth is not merely ugly; it is brutally exquisite, an extravagance of despair making itself party to the unofficial masquerade. Engage—flee—restlessness calls.