communication
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Ladders Never Touch Mud
The ladder gleams, but never rustsit’s never met the soil. From polished heights, they summon contracted ghosts, specters in suits, hollow hands that sign but never build. Greed wears a tie, apathy seals the deal. We, the handlers, catch the crumbs of their lazy feasttardy briefs, half-baked decks, pixels that scream “we didn’t care.” You never want to call out the rot. You want silence, compliance, a nod that costs us sleep. Are youyou hypocritethe one who preaches excellence while outsourcing mediocrity? They say you’re vile. They whisper bribes. They count the favors you never earned. But a corner of…
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The Echo of Discourse
It lingers still,those fractured frames of memory,etched in the static of my thoughts.Your cursed cryptic wordsencrypted, fragmented, staying alive in me… Through me…still haunt the algorithm of my discourse. Some nights,the void stares back harder,a black hole swallowing the lastof my certainties.But I know,it’s just my past reflection fracturing,a glitch in my solitude. How often have I scrolled,paused at your pixelated silhouette,searching for proof of existence,a breadcrumb of your now,as if that image could patch the cracks. What ache,what unbearable ache,a virus in the system,a loop of trust corrupted. And then the whispers came,warnings disguised as wisdom:“Never trust shadows that…
