River of Liquid Glass

In the garden of flickering neon trees, where shadows dance with marionette leaves, I met a man with a clockwork heart and eyes like prisms, tearing time apart. He whispered secrets in a language of static, his voice a symphony of glitches and clicks, telling tales of constellations uncharted, and love letters written in binary scripts. We wandered through a labyrinth of velvet mist, where fish flew by on currents of twilight, and the moon sang lullabies to sleeping stars, cradled in the arms of endless night. I found a river of liquid glass, where thoughts flowed like mercury streams, reflecting the dreams of forgotten gods, and the echoes of interstellar dreams. A carousel spun in an abandoned carnival, each horse a phantom of forgotten lore, and as I rode, the world unraveled, a tapestry of surrealist decor. In the distance, a cathedral of crystal, its spires piercing the fabric of reality, and inside, a choir of silent voices, harmonizing in spectral duality. When dawn broke, the mirage faded, leaving only a trace of whispered winds, and I awoke, clutching fragments of visions, in the realm where the surreal begins. :: 05.17.2024 :: (c) 2024 EP Robles