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COMBUST IN THE ACID HUES OF
STORMY NIGHTS: A WISH TO BE SOUGHT. (...) DELIBERATIONS OF LOTHARIO.

Under the occurrence of a vivid canopy where we devour those few hours of bliss, in wonder whether our ties exist or not, but here is naught to keep either of us here longer. Ashes by ashes, dust to dust, tip toed on the tightrope, paint this blank canvas with perfection of devotion. We sit on the hill, wait for the day to die down, a smoke pictures a scene of truth soaking us altogether: every sweet thing aside from us is a factorㅡno handholds, no footholds.

GRIEF OF DECEMBER SUNSETS.
WINTER EPISTLE: You Shall Halt.
TO FIRE OFF: @NewParadisebot

Sweating bullets in the blazing heat, what I weigh in affairs of the heart, let the aftermath offer us barreling towards the uproar of devoted flames. Black hearts depart at the autumn equinox, we cast into the eternal, what remains of us now is a decaying crimson roses, which burns into the phantom of an opera. There we strut around, carve spaces for gallantries to come across, to be sought, to be in pursuit of solace, to breathe the crisp air of winter odes.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSAIL TO THE DEVOTION.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤALL TO SEIZE OUR
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤDESIRES THAT ALIGN.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ @ LOTHARIO

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