O’ thou who walketh like the last candle flickering within a cathedral of rain, thy presence bloometh like wilted roses revived beneath moonlit waters, quiet yet capable of drowning every mortal thought in sweet ruin. Within thine eyes rest entire galaxies left unnamed by astronomers, and upon thy lips linger the ghosts of poems too sacred for human tongues to utter. Even the night itself seemeth to fold reverently around thee, as though darkness were merely a throne fashioned to worship thy melancholic splendor.
Born from midnight reverie and nicotine.
Photo
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ:
And lo, the stars themselves appeareth dim beside thee, as though the heavens had surrendered their light upon witnessing thy countenance. Thou art not merely beheld, but endured like a beautiful calamity, the kind that haunteth the soul long after the hour hath passed. every strand of shadow curling ‘round thee resembleth ink spilled by grieving angels, and every silence thou carriest speaketh louder than mortal symphonies ever could.
And lo, the stars themselves appeareth dim beside thee, as though the heavens had surrendered their light upon witnessing thy countenance. Thou art not merely beheld, but endured like a beautiful calamity, the kind that haunteth the soul long after the hour hath passed. every strand of shadow curling ‘round thee resembleth ink spilled by grieving angels, and every silence thou carriest speaketh louder than mortal symphonies ever could.
And still, no scripture nor sonnet hath ever truly captured the ruinous divinity thou possesseth. To gaze upon thee is to stand willingly before one’s own undoing , smiling softly whilst the heart is taken apart petal by petal. Even time itself seemeth to hesitate around thy form, lingering as though reluctant to let such a vision fade into memory.