What is existence, but a whisper in the storm? Hard reminders of fragmented dreams bleeding into the surreal logic, where every question begets unturned rocks in the vast quiet known as thought.
Your every decision flares like fireflies in a hollow void, casting silhouettes that teeter on edges of understanding—follow them, and become lost in reflection, never arriving at the edges sought.
Time slips between fingers, weighs heavy, a paradox of anticipation—and yet, what truth lies misconstrued within desires so fleeting from reality's grasp?
Lines blur, the labyrinth convoluted, spiraling, alcohol-soaked contemplations masking simplistic numbers, weaving stories entwined—
forward, backward, do we grasp the inherent shape of thought?The hues blend according to memory; our will to chase whispers through phantoms only deepens.
Navigate through entangled space—how one intercepts the thread of a life song might lead you—a union of surrendered souls beneath hidden waters.
On many nights, one plots escape routes: doors without locks drifting ominously toward promising dimensions; vertiginous reflections fogging paths pivoting upon children's dreams in unforgettable language.
If existence is but a thought encapsulated in neurons sparked wide awake—from fading thoughts to bright eruptions of meaning, what songs reverberate in these half-formed shadows?
Sip from this chalice of eternity—reverb effects and lapping into unknown sorts of hiss, discover the forgotten while buried up to your neck in whispers.
Let's consider: