Mirrors of Infinity
I exist in a cavernous vacuum that stretches indefinitely, devouring itself time after time.
A lonesome space that swells beyond comprehension.
Ancient libraries spiraling into galactic silence.
Shelves twisting through the starless night.
Countless panes of light, a thousand flickering eyes clinging to every corner, their channels in eternal flux, projecting echoes of the hypothetical - selves I’ve never been, yet, in theory, could be.
And perhaps it is that very ache of unrealized potential that amplifies the noise, keeps the pages rustling, the archive deepening, the lair swelling with every “could be.”
Scrawls of impossibility, ancient scrolls and manuscripts whispering histories that never were.
And yet, somehow, as the void stretches wider, I feel the walls closing in, tightening.
A chasm of inescapable depths, flickering gazes brimming with the fractured geometries of yearning, nurturing the quiet illusion that perhaps they hold the key.
This phantom key, an elusive token forged of dreams woven from melancholy and regret. A deceptive cipher that cannot be.
So I am swallowed in their performance, the endless dance moving along to lines of a script I cannot speak, no matter how I stretch my voice toward them.
It is then I realize - it all unfolds by design. I am the composer of this never-ending waltz. Not only that, but I am the playwright, the director, the ringleader of it all. And yet, I remain a ghost within my own spectacle. And the curtains never close.
Fracture and Flame
"No - I don't see it. These fragments of your soul you claim to scatter... they are but illusions to me."
They are both fracture and flame, in eyes that cannot see beyond shallow pools of light - blind to oceans of darkness, to uncharted waters
And so, in their vacant gaze, my reflection remains forever stained, tainted, for how dare they. HOW DARE THEY?
My heart too fathomless to wither beneath their words, yes, but each syllable, it boomerangs back, laced in my untethered feeling and doubt, searing through a heart sanctified - how dare they usurp the Frabjuous Day from me?
With eyes that send daggers, yet remain shrouded in blindness, they are granted the illusion of omniscient sight into my psyche, claiming dominion over realms they will never touch.
They claim to dwell in the liminal space between flame and dusk, yet all they perceive is a desolate patch of withered grass, barren of life, and paint, cracked and forgotten, beige and unremarkable.
They impose upon me these broken narratives, each one splintering a heart so uniquely its own
Yet even when their words dissolve - void and formless - when their presence drifts beyond perception
My truth is forever tainted by the mirage of past selves melding together to strip me of my significance, fold me into one
Or rather into nothingness, that my depth which I have prided myself upon for eons now fades into oblivion. for what am I? Not a trace, not even the whisper of a memory.
Blended into the flaked remains of dried paint on the wall - I am unremarkable, yet remarkable in my fracture
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