Forwarded from THE BOYZ VILLAGE.
ㅤsilhoutte: 🩻⠲ㅤvol. 1998
(architecture of the unkempt)
\
ㅤas the traffic lights bleed red and gold
across his face, he finds a solitary bench.
░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░
he doesn’t belong to the polished glass towers or the hurried suits; he belongs to the grit, the late-night diners, and the echoes between buildings.
/ 럭비; 11 faint white lines across
his knuckles, trophies
of a physical life. ⓘ .. 🏈
Forwarded from WYRMHARROW: The Moonwrought Lineage.
ㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤ𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙊𝙈𝙉𝙄𝙎𝘾𝙄𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙎𝙇𝙀𝙐𝙏𝙃:
ㅤㅤGOLD EYED, TEETH BARED,
ㅤㅤAN ODDLY SANCTIFIED SOUL,
ㅤㅤ(#HowlOfWyrmharrow) 𖦏
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ /
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤEngraved herein, the sacred
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤantecedent, under the tect
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤmeadow. Hark their strident
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤhowl and the virile adhesion
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤingrained in their hale blood.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤ𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙊𝙈𝙉𝙄𝙎𝘾𝙄𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙎𝙇𝙀𝙐𝙏𝙃:
ㅤㅤGOLD EYED, TEETH BARED,
ㅤㅤAN ODDLY SANCTIFIED SOUL,
ㅤㅤ(#HowlOfWyrmharrow) 𖦏
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ /
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤEngraved herein, the sacred
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤantecedent, under the tect
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤmeadow. Hark their strident
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤhowl and the virile adhesion
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤingrained in their hale blood.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
(ETERNAL TWILIGHT.) 🪝ㅤㅤ
Forwarded from Canticle of Heaven's Paradox: Hjërt.
ㅤㅤ
Dear..
dear...
Our sweet candelabra looter,
Saturated, not haunted must we say—yet! Shattered tablecloth, chairs that are filled with one's name, and linking hands that were stained by fig we crushed this early-midday. Darling, was it your glistening eyes that chanters? We hear your calling to reveal this pity-tea-party, a welcoming, mayhaps? So let's be it! Let the candle burn alive as we lift one's sorrow to death.
Toss to us. Under the mad boiling sinensis, @HjertsBot, pretty little finger. Mischievous grief we owe rather than tainted smile as you palm us your burned nails, may it be stained by our eternal vein-loathed ties.
Dear..
dear...
Our sweet candelabra looter,
Saturated, not haunted must we say—yet! Shattered tablecloth, chairs that are filled with one's name, and linking hands that were stained by fig we crushed this early-midday. Darling, was it your glistening eyes that chanters? We hear your calling to reveal this pity-tea-party, a welcoming, mayhaps? So let's be it! Let the candle burn alive as we lift one's sorrow to death.
Not a scheme of sinister. I, (your name, @) veiled by your sacred offering. Letter my call under (your muse, year) and may the Angels not forbid my plea.
Toss to us. Under the mad boiling sinensis, @HjertsBot, pretty little finger. Mischievous grief we owe rather than tainted smile as you palm us your burned nails, may it be stained by our eternal vein-loathed ties.