turning tables and clicking clocks

Celluloid Trances

It felt like everything had moved elsewhere like thin paper at the first contact of water. Shrunk away.

Soon, the anguish was gone, his ashy arguments narrated once in sounds that twirled like swirling gusts of air, now enclosed in bubbles that would shatter violently at everyones sighs. He was left neglected.

Silence conquered the territories that once kept him proud, emptied his heart, flooded his mind with infesting taints of agony, of a hollow eyed longing. He lost himself.

Regret started to crawl in old photographs, and behind each mirror was a blackening memory, necrotic and wilting, like petals curling up in their final hours. Time began a changing image, infected by habits, a running movie in which he chased himself away, into rivers of tragic returns.

His hands would gnaw at pages, his lips would recite promises of the past, dreams that vanished into what seemed like another…

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