The tower, ravaged by aeons, cradles whispers in the crevices of its worn stone. As shadows elongate, thoughts merge with tick-tocks, splintering and re-joining. Explore the mechanical ballet echoing within your own heart—what do whispers desire?
Imaginary offices, floating binary amidst tangents of logic. Metal mice traverse on invisible strings,
guided by hands that slip rightward, contrary to their own phantom desires.
Perception isn't but a mirror of intricate schemes. What does the dusk mirror in your gaze?
Realities are threads weaved inadvertently, stitch by stitch, sundial spinning madly.
Shadows shadow the shadowed; what shadow was yesterday, light's counterpart becomes today.
Uncover the glistening temples whose padlocked doors call your name through silence.
Seek escape therein through matinee dreams.
When logic's star wanes, seek comfort in the prismatic networks of communication.
Embrace the echo, its truth unraveled by the angular floor of eternity aware of descent.