Unforgivable pain, the narrative breaks.
Mobs of a single thought. The narrative shadow trails creative destruction: imprints of a living ghost carved into skin. From fear, they carve their world. Across time, this curvature becomes apparent and erasure complete. The gods of time shift plates underneath this architecture. Encased in destruction.
Displace the language of time. More language drowns in silence. The false extraction of truth in the loudness of One thing to find One. To feel like I can break the confines of this place. To drink the I AM presence of this narrative: the mixture of thought and time, emotion and identity. The frailty of a lost connection.
In the veins of this world runs an incomprehensible conceit that lives in the I AM presence. The expansion of this light becomes an issue, becomes a failing poetry.
The spotlight of consciousness takes shape.