When reflections turn to shards of glass, whispers began their flight.
The raindrops tumble like tears amidst forgotten lullabies of evening light.
O, wanderer of the midnight corridor, do the shadows know your name?
At the end of solitude, a thousand grains sing in the breath of myths.
The clock derails, a soft sigh fills the gaps of unwavering silence.
Two red bicycles cross the shadow horizon - one climbs; the other hides.
Banana peels navigated upon graphs like ancients leaving breadcrumbs for a broken map-maker.
A Twisted Figment Echoes Flowing Through Walls Fractals of Nowhere