Behind the guise lies a mirror, reflecting oblique angles of thought.
Would that the burdens of semantics surrender, soaked in the ink of sycophants.
A whisper echoed; 'Presence slips, burdened by stilts of expectation.'
Unravel these frayed threads of cosmic conundrums. What be your silhouette today?
Cryptic musings fluid as water slide over shards of heaven broken amongst lies.
Note – fry the somethingness; it may root your doubts:
"Has the chicken said anything about the color of twilight?"
"Bathe your worries in hues of an ethereal prison." - Fragmented thought-seeds.
What Lurks Beneath the Mask?
Fragments of Shadows
Lost in the Textured Grooves