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Some days I feel myself slipping, like the edges of me are losing shape — not breaking, just drifting out of focus like a photograph touched too many times.

The day slips off my shoulders like a coat I forgot I was wearing, and the world settles into that hush between breath and evening. Everything feels slower here, gentler —

Streetlights hum in a world gone gray, shadows stretching long like they’ve been waiting to speak. My steps land heavy, but they land sure — no rush,

Flickers in the glass — ghosts caught mid-transmit, their stories trapped in the glow of a dying signal. The datastream murmurs, fractured and thin, a whisper stitched from remnants no one meant to archive.

Ghost in the wire, a static hum pretending to be a soul — faces flicker on a broken console, names erased, shadows scrolling through the dark like forgotten prayers in pixel dust.

Cables knot and pulse, thoughtstreams burning through the dark — encrypted fire swirling in the neural grid. The network turns, a quiet heartbeat beneath machines and myth, and truth breaks through with no apology.

The stream glows quiet, a dream disguised as data — scrolls of hidden wisdom in the hum of the feed. I download the mantra, feel the wires loosen around my chest. The past turns vapor. The future tastes clean.

Ten toes grounded, skyline tall, you stand steady now — the kind of steady that doesn’t stumble or wait for someone else to call the move.

You stand taller now, looking through the pane like someone who learned the shape of storms and stayed standing anyway. Still, you trace the frame — the way memory likes to circle even when the heart has moved on.

Outgrew the skyline’s tired breath, ten toes planted in coded depth. No bluff, no brace — just spark and skin writing your name into the fading dark.

Caught it mid-flicker, wasn’t sure what I heard — just a voice shaped like voltage, folded tight inside a word.

Wires hum secrets in fractured tones, a truth hiding below the static — urgent, impatient, kicking the gate like light trying to break its own shadow.

Wires hum deep in the dark, streetlights flicker like they’re waking a god. Truth doesn’t knock — it kicks the gate, steps into the room with static and fate in its hands.

Song about getting your life back on track

Story about losing a frend that wasn't pulling his weight.

“I walk through clouds like I stitched the gray... No filter needed — I glow in blur. They call me soft like it’s a shame, But soft survives when none remain.”

“You’d rather fly a sign than find your lane — I offered light, but you chose the rain.”

“Not every cloud was meant to pass — some stay just long enough to teach you how to stand in the rain.”

run the ache again— chrome reflection, pixel skin, search bar prayer: “will I feel again?” the algorithm shrugs. you press your hand to...

you don’t know me yet, but i’ve seen where this thread leads. not the path exactly— just the feeling of landing on your feet after...