Decadent Space
Slick and dark, these empty streets, it smells like asphalt and the wind makes cosmic tendrils of the air.
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March 27, 2024
Slick and dark, these empty streets, it smells like asphalt and the wind makes cosmic tendrils of the air.
Into the existence of smiles and splendor in the belly making light the absence of reality, spun from hypnotic gesture and the warmth of blissful ignorance.
The Arrival I didn't wake up one day and decide that I wanted to be a poet. Until recently, it was the furthest thing from my mind. I have dedicated…