celestial bodies of gold
but without them - without my solitude - i wouldn’t be the one you desire.
perhaps we drift away only to strenghten the influence we have on one another,
which flows through our veins of aesthetic bleeding.
or maybe we are like stars - celestial bodies of gold -
and within our appeal lies our demise.
whichever, if any, is true, i wish to ask for a reasoning,
for alone, i cannot make it out alive.
and when i am asleep, watch over me and my body of art.
would it be right to declare war, even if my dna is peaceful?
the portrayal of your silhouette; the shadow of a weeping willow,
which saw sunlight for the first time in decades.
our lives may seem like facades to those who pen not,
but if we let them influence our actions, our art will reach its demise.
the future is still unwritten, but the past is on the bookshelves.
Luka.
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