The searing reminders of innate fallibility,
subconscious pillars of darkness wept,
supporting the crumbling azure high
Recurring rejection in sobering plentitude,
feigned adulation for favors in the interim,
naught but nothing remains
There’s no escaping the erubescent sear,
holding sway beneath the eyes, from
consuming the hymns of songbirds
There’s no escaping the being in being here,
the destructive reality of misguided fantasy,
except to simply not be
art: untitled 42 by Peterio
Can relate.
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It’s beautifully expressed :’)
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Thank you (:
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