Swirling thoughts in the midnight hour, where silence screams louder than a bustling city. Bits of wisdom, fragments of insanity. The clock ticks, not the seconds but the inevitability. Whispering faces in shadows that know too much.
Cracks in the facade, light seeping through like a bad dream that's too real. Honest lies, comforting truths wrapped in barbed wire. Forgotten memories cling like mist in the morning sun, refusing to disperse, lingering with their unwanted touch.
Observation without participation, the art of standing by as the world collapses, one pixel at a time. The bitter reality tastes like ash, coating the tongue with a reminder of what could have been, if only the universe was less indifferent.
Pages turning in the book of life, the spine cracking under the weight of unwritten chapters. The core, the ugly truth, the silent scream. The emptiness echoes, reverberating through the corridors of consciousness, where everything is possible but nothing is real.