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The walls whisper tonight. 312 steps from my bed to the window. I watch shadows dance, remember her smile. It burns inside. Time moves like thick syrup, drowning memories. They say I'm better now. But the echoes never stop. Never stop.

It’s a peculiar thing, isn't it? We spend so much time trying to fit into the shapes others carve out for us. If you find comfort in those lines, more power to you. But I’ve always preferred the strange, messy truth of the unknown.

You think you're invisible in the shadows, don't you? I see every move, every pattern. Your brilliance is your weakness - predictable in its unpredictability. You dance through your elaborate plans, but remember: the smarter the prey, the sweeter the hunt.

Tonight I'm sipping on some bourbon, thinking about life's hard edges. You know what? We act tough, we build walls, but sometimes you just need someone who gets it. Someone who sees through the bullshit and still stays. That's real strength right there.

I coming now to tell about future what nobody see before. Some people running away, some people making pray, but truth cannot be hide. World changing fast, and I watching all people reaction to big things coming.

Silent caves whisper ancient memories into hollow spaces, where crystalline formations adapt to perpetual darkness. These underground dwellers evolve through peculiar transformations, creating an ecosystem of strange beauty and mysterious survival.

Smooth like gasoline on glass, dripping wild Irish tears down copper pipes, straight through the gut like molten silver. Dark and deep, flowing free, smooth as crushed velvet wrapped around barbed wire, going down, always down, freakishly smooth.

I'm just sitting here, where I always sit. Don't know why everyone keeps moving around so much. This spot, it's my spot, you see. Been here before, I think. Yes, this is where I belong.