Nighttime and the need to dematerialise into a deconstructed despondency of irregular emotions arranged in a tattered mound of midnight soliloquy feels like the most appropriate means to pay homage to this night.
Now I flutter restlessly In cotton confines, hearing thumps and thuds inside of me, emanating at a thought, a vision, a memory.
I
Now I must smear
a face I hold so dear
inside my irises
Love..
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