(no subject)
Craven lacks necessity, yet the word echoes through empty hallways which once filled with boxes of text. If there were more of my voice, things would feel different. Instead, I grasp at wisps of air from the mouths of others with whom I once shared a common purpose. This is no longer.
Without meaning these halls appear endless.
I am a statue come to life. Crumbling and shedding tears of pebbles and faint sulfur. Broken from an orbit around rocks generating small touches of sentience, this is not the life I once believed in.
So dead-ends no longer exist. Only endless hallways and pillars dedicated to half-forgotten memories discarded as broken seed.
Without meaning these halls appear endless.
I am a statue come to life. Crumbling and shedding tears of pebbles and faint sulfur. Broken from an orbit around rocks generating small touches of sentience, this is not the life I once believed in.
So dead-ends no longer exist. Only endless hallways and pillars dedicated to half-forgotten memories discarded as broken seed.