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𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒕, 𝑨𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕, 𝑼𝒏𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘.

It is a cry of humiliation that can escape the soul. A deep-seated fear of being left cold, unfulfilled, incomplete, and deeply damaged. Perhaps we should leave nothing to reason and everything to the feelings of the heart. Is it possible to love with passion? Under the body, it is contaminated with excess, doubts, and the inconsistency of permanent feelings. 

She wants cuts, bruises, and scars that won't go away. He wants documents released, preserved, and delivered to him through all sources of control. She, with her blue eyes, full lips, and sultry voice, longed for love and a special relationship that would depend on nothing. 

How easy it is to feel unknown, forbidden, and taboo. But it was very difficult to find anything that could calm and soothe her. What she wanted in drones, hill crashes, and inverted shapes seemed hidden.

𝓐𝓼𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻

If I could, I would be completely ignorant. I could opt out and have nothing. If I could, I would erase every trace of my past self. The person I formerly was doesn't belong in my present existence. I want to expel all that was stored in that gloomy pit. My very essence will not be consumed. Losing your soul is worthless. You can't pull apart who I am. When it comes to matters that I know are exclusively mine, I will not be influenced. I will not give up everything. Not everything can be divulged. The passing of the seasons will no longer be tolerated by me in order to appease another spirit. If uncertainty persists, it should be spoken. As a smirking vengeance, I am Jack.

Carnal want, passion, vexation~

A pallum drum of pure candors is like the pounding silence of the body. The withering departure of the loins diminishes the remaining influence of effortless desire. Intimately tied to a state of miraculous mental calm—and yet, hunt it.

I need someone to latch onto me, to untangle me, and teach me new ways of being tamed. Having me gasp for air, captivated, gawking, and almost detached from the world around. Hunger that never goes away and sorrowful, flowing passion are the real depths of longing.

Encased in a blossoming charred rose, it is overflowing. The dull, lifeless petals are wet from the unsettling nature of sheer mental stimulation.

Feeling bewildered, homesick, and divided by the biased divide—confronted with little more than opposition. Devastated, bruised, stained, and yearning for arms that could subdue me. Please, someone, somewhere, tame me.

𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐫.

My pain has vanished from these flower beds. Play the piano, work hard, and get something for nothing. What a cold sound it is to produce nothing and not simultaneously. It works really well in silence, smoke, and stillness. How to destroy and coexist?Will this world produce withered petals and smoking longings? I won't be hurt anymore.

Am I not hurt, clawed, or attacked? Pour into me and make me believe that this will be good, even if it means death. Petals have been around for many years.

This exclamation point means nothing but ends in some way. Precious stains, moisture, androse color remain. I want to know all over the world…

Swivet, Susurrus~

Rose raised, captivated caught, and clung to the hook line. By a delicate strand of fervor, brewing within the pulsating heart. Imagine if it were to cease, the desire, the necessity, the internalized vexing game?

Lost in a haze, immersed in a world of passionate longings—slowly flowing life within the heart of a captivating enchantress. Gazing into the depths of frozen eyes, they thawed into shimmering pools of unfamiliar emotions. Like a gentle stirring from slumber, prompted by the rhythmic beat of existence.

A solitary existence, evoking a sense of destiny and fresh starts. Whispers of odes and the gentle dance of ebbs and flows, suspended in the ethereal realm of thought. To capture a feeling that is transient, yet exists in the present moment. Experiencing the vibrant essence of life, over and over, and maybe, if faced with mortality in this very moment, one would be resurrected, mirroring these tumultuous, whispering emotions.