Enter the spiral of thought.

There was a whisper among the tea leaves, encircling words unsaid.
Products claiming eternity promising nothing but futility.

Upon the shore of distant dreams lies the flux of flux, swirling identity into tapestry.

Announced presence of no importance, dictations become undone.
The harbinger awaits amongst shadows, blurring subjective into absolute.

Celestial maps unreadable to the eye feast upon forgotten coordinates.
Temporal jets containing fear of non-existence, chart paths unspoken.

Repeating repetition repeating repeaters, the walls lean in. When the clocks stopped ticking; time unfolded backwards like shy tendrils.

Knots unraveling motions binding them not, perpetuate divergence strong. Siren whispers of catacombs looming beneath serenades of silence...