When I speak, my voice turns
into ancient fire.
Merely everything I thought was consumed;
ended up mustering in XYZ.
Disfigured words want to be kings.
Golden flowers peel the skies organs.
Your teeth feel wrinkled after chewing on halos.
Salvation grew claws
but you’re ego shaved its spirit.
Magick without technology
will mutate our faces by translucent ashes.
Solitary vomits twilight goo.
My heart dresses very androgynous.
I would unmask my finger tips
but I’d rather show you
how the reflection of me appears to be a timeless classic.
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