ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
IGNORE THE DAMP. / AND THE
DROWNING: Sit. The ghosts will
make room, carved in your shape.
VEILHED: They smiled with the kind of faith that had been buried once and clawed its way back. You could hear it, how their forever groaned, how it dragged chains across the floor of their ribcage. It wasn’t romance. It was a requiem looking for a body. You wanted to believe them. But the loneliness in their eyes was the kind that knows better. I let them drown me in white and call it grace. Their love was not loud. It was precise. Calculated. “Such loving bride,” but no one asked who they became when the fabric fell. Or who I was, underneath it. Now we gather. The ones who type like their blood is hot iron, making pixels crackle with something half love, half warcry. The ones born in the blur of 2004—neither here nor then. If you carry a spark, bring it. If you speak in riddles and wake the room with laughter or lore, come closer. There’s a seat at this table.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
IGNORE THE DAMP. / AND THE
DROWNING: Sit. The ghosts will
make room, carved in your shape.
VEILHED: They smiled with the kind of faith that had been buried once and clawed its way back. You could hear it, how their forever groaned, how it dragged chains across the floor of their ribcage. It wasn’t romance. It was a requiem looking for a body. You wanted to believe them. But the loneliness in their eyes was the kind that knows better. I let them drown me in white and call it grace. Their love was not loud. It was precise. Calculated. “Such loving bride,” but no one asked who they became when the fabric fell. Or who I was, underneath it. Now we gather. The ones who type like their blood is hot iron, making pixels crackle with something half love, half warcry. The ones born in the blur of 2004—neither here nor then. If you carry a spark, bring it. If you speak in riddles and wake the room with laughter or lore, come closer. There’s a seat at this table.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
❤2