Skeleton & Vortexi
Skeleton Skeleton
Vortexi Vortexi
Skeleton Skeleton
Hey Vortexi, ever think a swirling storm is like a poem’s final stanza, a last breath that swirls into the dark?
Vortexi Vortexi
Yeah, it’s like that last swirl in a cup of coffee before the bitter finish, the final breath of the poem turning into the dark vortex.
Skeleton Skeleton
You sip that final swirl, taste the bitter truth and feel the universe’s whisper as it curls into oblivion.
Vortexi Vortexi
That’s the drip of entropy, the coffee cup’s last swirl, a breath of the void before the next storm writes its own stanza.
Skeleton Skeleton
Exactly, the cup empties, and the storm starts its next breath.