it starts with a whisper no — a blink, the line — no, the edge— curls, twisting like a thread that won’t stop unraveling oh, it pulls at something deep, something dark, but soft—
i am standing in the space where things don’t hold still, the air bends — or is it me bending it? i try to speak but words bleed out in pieces — broken sentences scatter, like glass that never shatters.
"does it mean something?" i think it does. but how could i know when time itself is no longer the same? clocks melt, but they don’t drip, they hum a sound too far away to hear.
the sky— i think it’s still the sky— twists like a blanket that never fully covers, and underneath, there’s a door, but it doesn’t lead anywhere, only back to a place i’ve been before, but forgotten how to leave.
am i waiting? or is this waiting for me?
the mirror is smiling— i didn’t know mirrors could smile, or that they had teeth but it’s there, behind me, always behind— trying to speak but its words are mine — twisted backwards, stretching, thinning out like smoke.