Welcome to the clockwork realm of diluted realism, where even the memories grow stale and swirl into the oblivion of entropy. In the moment, but never here.
Cherry blossoms unbound defy gravity; do they scream or merely flutter to the ground like whispers on a Sunday? The insanity pizazzes like confetti on a reluctant new year.
Meet us here beneath the raucous laughter of uninspired clocks—
Tick tock goes insanity, syncopated irony flaming like autumn leaves.
What is this journey? A frivolous footnote in the article of a forgotten existence.
Impossibly palatable products await:
Accept this invitation with open confines, like hands caring for shadows beneath a flowery light.