Hallowed out fissures in the windows, a tale of all tales

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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—

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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 ruin

A 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

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