Carve me a piece of your soul and I'd hand you the sun, hands scorched and scarred;
Carve me a fissure of your mind and I'll give you poisoned flowers a jingle of toxic vials—An arrangement
meant for ruinA ruin where luminescent configurations dance and tell the legends of beasts;
A ruin where they worship arrangements that turn angels into beasts and beasts into gods.*art by Denis Sarazhin