The room stood still—yet nothing stayed,
Each thought he had would twist, cascade.
A flicker, force, a mind unchained,
The world obeyed, but fear remained.
The spoons would bend with silent screams,
The knives would hover, slice through dreams.
The walls would hum with phantom hands,
A dance unseen, yet well-planned.
His rage, an echo trapped in space,
A thought could twist, could displace.
To look was sin, to speak—a crime,
His mind reshaped the threads of time.
The lights would flicker in his breath,
A whisper spun the web of death.
He raised a glass—it cracked in two,
A silent laugh, a vanished clue.
No chains could hold a force untamed,
No walls could bind a soul unclaimed.
Each flick of thought, each wicked grin,
Pulled fate apart, rewove it thin.
The world around him bent and screamed,
A nightmare stitched from fevered dreams.
To lift, to pull, to break, to crush—
The weight of thought was much too much.
The earth rebelled, the stars went dim,
The sky itself belonged to him.
For hands unbound by flesh and bone,
Will never call this world their own.
And so he drifts where silence reigns,
A ghost untethered, lost in chains.
For minds that move what hands cannot,
Will always dance with cursed thought.
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