where logic twists and colours spin,
where seas are red and skies are white,
and trees wear leaves of shattered light.
I walked a shore of fallen glass,
each shard a memory from the past—
a flash of laughter, swift and bright,
a lover’s gaze that cut the night.
I climbed a hill that breathed like skin,
its peaks alive, its roots within,
and watched as houses turned to sand,
and clocks dripped hours from my hands.
The air was filled with whispers there,
words that drifted, light as air,
but try to catch them, and they’d fade,
like shadows cast in evening shade.
I saw myself—a stranger’s face,
an outline shifting out of place.
She stared at me with hollow eyes,
half-mad with dreams, half-wise with lies.
And through it all, a humming sound,
an ache, a pull, a tremble found—
as if the earth beneath my feet
was drawn to some unheard heartbeat.
In dreamscapes strange, I drift alone,
in fields where time and space are sown.
When morning pulls, I leave behind
a thousand worlds, just fragments, blind.
Yet as I wake, they cling like dew,
soft traces of a world I knew,
a place unseen by light of day,
where dreams and waking worlds decay.
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