When the clock ends its vicious spin.
Through broken glass—veins like rivers, hope abandoned.
The attic in the somber house sighs...
It's dark; all was cold, forlorn night's embrace.
No one knows that true shadows dance here, sbutterly beyond.
Hidden beneath Layers
Ebony's Pale Ghost
The Corner Without Light
Again, unknotted secrets, stuttering their cries,
Your distant pulse—a heartbeat written here,
changing words too fretted to understand.
Feel the silk, whisper: Crossroads ash and smoke.
Splinters rot. The crypt—never meant to hold you,
poured milk into scrambled whispers beyond.
You are what you see – or so it seems...