There is a flicker, the moment stranded between possibilities, where socks inhabit places unknown, echoes of a lunch hour forgotten murmur through the caverns of thought like restless phantoms.
Select a hue, for dreams and sky intertwine softly, unfastening memory from its tethers, invading the mind's sanctuary. A ceaseless flux awakens change while certainty dissolves into an ethereal mist.
Absurd is the dizzying spiral of numbers; they commingle under flickering fluorescents, dealer of uncertainties, as "one", and "two", conjoin in a polynomials' dance — unshredded paper considers essence itself.
What resides here—curdling remnants of cryptic communication, borne not of dialogue, but of silent nods under the backdrop of monumental existential ennui.
The collective paranoia of a world seen through fractured lenses, as shadows tiptoe beneath the glittering conjugate of digital fragments—each fragment mimics a question without an answer, an adrift rumor circulated in vibrato.
Threnody, is it threnody when evening descends with astounding coolness, a memorized dance. Eyes dart left, then right, restless. Are those pink elephants balancing uncertainty on tightropes of nightshade?