It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea...

Even when I walk with these legs all the same, dictating directions unconsciously, and at times, even caressing my being with a fleeting certainty —

I—still, — oddly, — remain a stranger to my own existence.

My palms peel rotten tangerine, and my lips drip of overripe apricot. A summer ruse weighs down the thickened air, droops our eyelids, and sinks us beneath our own sweat.

ㅤ
ㅤ ㅤ 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚜.
ㅤ ㅤ Asɧ &., Burial on the Mountaiᕬs.
ㅤㅤ Tortured égo for beating Norm.
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ꦮꦶꦱ꧀ tաᰰain.
ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ🐑🪵͜
ㅤ