It’s all noise now. No silence anywhere. The city breathes—too close, too hot. Every sound overlaps, every hum sticks to my skin. I can taste it. The air tastes like metal and secrets.
They’re here. I can’t see them, but I feel the weight of their gaze pressing down on the back of my skull. The lights… they hum my name. Not out loud. Underneath. In the static. In the breath between words. They know I can hear them.
The shadows move wrong. They stretch too far, reach too high. I saw one crawl up a wall once—like smoke that decided it didn’t need gravity anymore. I looked away. I always look away. The trick is not to look too long, or they’ll know you’ve seen.
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It’s all noise now. No silence anywhere. The city breathes—too close, too hot. Every sound overlaps, every hum sticks to my skin. I can taste it. The air tastes like metal and secrets.
They’re here. I can’t see them, but I feel the weight of their gaze pressing down on the back of my skull. The lights… they hum my name. Not out loud. Underneath. In the static. In the breath between words. They know I can hear them.
The shadows move wrong. They stretch too far, reach too high. I saw one crawl up a wall once—like smoke that decided it didn’t need gravity anymore. I looked away. I always look away. The trick is not to look too long, or they’ll know you’ve seen.
You are about to cross a threshold. Not into another place, but into a different angle of the place you already know. The world you trust, the faces you greet, the routines you cling to—all of it balanced on a fragile thread.
Step one pace to the side, and everything changes. The familiar street becomes a labyrinth. The voice at your breakfast table becomes a stranger.
The most ordinary object holds the weight of dread. This is the unseen world of the imagination. It does not ask permission.
It creeps in when the lights flicker, when the silence stretches too long,
when the questions form that no one dares to answer. You are invited to listen.
But be warned— once the stories take root in your mind, they do not leave.
They linger. They fester. They wait for you in the dark corners of your own thoughts. come on in and take a seat, its about to start.
So lean closer now.
The path is set, the night is open,
and there is no turning back.
The Intrepid Birdman Show
It’s all noise now. No silence anywhere. The city breathes—too close, too hot. Every sound overlaps, every hum sticks to my skin. I can taste it. The air tastes like metal and secrets.
They’re here. I can’t see them, but I feel the weight of their gaze pressing down on the back of my skull. The lights… they hum my name. Not out loud. Underneath. In the static. In the breath between words. They know I can hear them.
The shadows move wrong. They stretch too far, reach too high. I saw one crawl up a wall once—like smoke that decided it didn’t need gravity anymore. I looked away. I always look away. The trick is not to look too long, or they’ll know you’ve seen.
