In a dead zone, frozen in time, there stands a statue made of tears—a silent monument to the past. A dead flower wilts beside it, a love story lost and forgotten. Matchsticks and straws lie abandoned on fire’s throne, while grief stains the pages of history with its dark ink and gore.
Sorrow is etched deep into the heart, its engraving a permanent mark. The graveyard of joy spins in reverse, its clock turning anti-clockwise, while the resonating eclipse calls for the black art of suffering. Pain becomes the fruit of existence, and love remains an unsolved mystery.
The flag of bliss was never raised, its fabric torn by the winds of wrath. Footsteps breathe their last on the gravel of destruction, while brown leaves swirl through memories long since abandoned. Autumn brings the horror, and déjà vu becomes the twisted artistry of forgotten times.
Feeble crows drown in a dried-up fountain, their cries and wings lost in the ripples of time. Mist fuses with the dust of the past, and the horizon stretches into eternity, blurred by the weight of old prayers. Hell becomes a cemetery, its tombstones marked by the flight of lost hopes.
Shadows, nocturnal and relentless, write the final obituary of what once was. Vivid and vague thoughts clutch at the soul, each one an anchor to a past that won’t let go. My entity is imprisoned in dead veins, each pulse of venom a reminder of memories that cling like a cluster of ghosts.