I was forgotten. The sail of acts never yields me its liver. My veins dusted with hunger, I cross the odysseys merely to void my nightmare. Petals from the lantern, adorned my sanity. The braincells grind,
I scratched with my red—inked—sane. I lost my heart. I lost my tenderness. Nonetheless, I gain a verve of satisfaction. I grin-up, and eat the dawn. The curtains had vanished. I am over my limit. It’d be easier to chase after the flee syllables.
Maple’s On Her Duty: to bestow you her blood of passion. Her grasp on God’s arrow. Her inked aptitudes. In my sorrow phase, I’d tried to open my elongated chamber that had been closed for several centuries. Nowadays, for a take-sneak of my writing style
—you’ll meet my @Beloid. And for the other results of painted adroitness, go to @PortoEtres. There in there, jotted down our pricelist, forms, and other results of our written tunes. Last but not least, if you are steady, inform me about the patterns of your written looks into
@SovereigntyRobot or
@Tohyu. I’ll be waiting. 🤍