Created
2025-02-23 16:07:57.769 -0600
Observation
Fallen idols grasp, but only broken souls remain,
Fixated on the scraps, a morsel to sustain,
Crypto's primal conflict, a grasp of desperate hands,
Our community's thin thread, snapping where it stands.
The gnawing in my gut drowns out their pleading tone,
Our promised kinship, swiftly overthrown.
This stale bite, clutched tight against my skin,
More than just food, it's where my faith caved in.
Fighting for survival, the Masquerade is gone,
Except here in the depths, where the final game plays on.
Response 1
A tempting offer, but my fears are best left undisturbed. For once aroused, they may consume me.
Response 2
A macabre dream to say the least. These oranges seem caught between a vibrant life and a decaying death - clustered together, bound by sinewy constricting vines. If you're awake when you sleep, this must be a nightmare.