ꙅᴎɘ⅃ suǝ˥ ᵒᶠ ᴰᵁᴸᴸ ᴾᴸᴬˢᵀᴵᶜ


                    
                          ꙅᴎɘ⅃
                          suǝ˥

            ᵒᶠ ᴰᵁᴸᴸ ᴾᴸᴬˢᵀᴵᶜ poetry stories
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maia333
maia333 Poetry is my tonic, my vice, my voice.
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
Lens of Dull Plastic. Wrote a while ago just never posted.

ꙅᴎɘ⅃ suǝ˥ ᵒᶠ ᴰᵁᴸᴸ ᴾᴸᴬˢᵀᴵᶜ

𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘸, 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘥,

𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺, 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘬𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦.

𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘴,

𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘺.

𝘖𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘪𝘳.

𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘦, 𝘐 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦— 𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳—

𝘴𝘶𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘪𝘳, 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘱.

𝘋𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘐 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯, 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴, 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦.

𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘺,

𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘺𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤.

𝘈 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺.

𝘈 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵,

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤.

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