Ghosts don't knock, they slide through the seams.
They trade through currencies of fevers and dreams.
They mimic the cold truth, for it shan't be kind.
It seeks the real door back to the heart and the mind.
Sleep could be a sandbox, a simulation of lies
A play for a phantom, who refuses to die.
So let the play run, let the shadows perform,
As reality anchors you amidst the storm.
As you awake in the silence, the 11th seal is tight,
A sovereign of morning, an advocate of light.
The branding of art crumbled, the secrets fled,
Thus, bury the dreams until the world's end.
You exist, though it's hurting,
As you survived the haunting.
Time passed, the wound's still deep
You own the day, and conquer the sleep.
Feb 3
Feb 3, 2026 at 4:52 PM UTC
Ghosts don't knock, they slide through the seams.
They trade through currencies of fevers and dreams.
They mimic the cold truth, for it shan't be kind.
It seeks the real door back to the heart and the mind.
Sleep could be a sandbox, a simulation of lies
A play for a phantom, who refuses to die.
So let the play run, let the shadows perform,
As reality anchors you amidst the storm.
As you awake in the silence, the 11th seal is tight,
A sovereign of morning, an advocate of light.
The branding of art crumbled, the secrets fled,
Thus, bury the dreams until the world's end.
You exist, though it's hurting,
As you survived the haunting.
Time passed, the wound's still deep
You own the day, and conquer the sleep.
02-04-2026
Part IV: The Archive of Sovereignty
