Sentenced

The sentences would not stop appearing, the story kept on reinventing itself; is this the onset of madness, the steps to the depths of delirium.

The sentences gathered themselves, as if in vast fields of flowers, whose tips were welded together, into the light emitting diodes of the many thousand colours.

Three times I forced a closure, three times the sentences appeared again, until at last I rose from my bed; it was one hour past midnight.

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