A thousand eyes, yet none can see
The weight of still-born memory.
Her face—a bloom in static grace,
Drifts soft through time, without a place.

Roses crown her quiet ache,
In silence loud enough to break.
She dreams in loops, in colors loud,
Beneath the skulls, beneath the shroud

| Sound: ON
| Original size: 256 x 256
| Upscaled size: 720 x 720