“My days are numbered now, but never counted down. The symbolism is exposed, but still no one knows. My blistered fingers wrapped around a pen where emotion lingers. Word by fucking word, I smash them into sculptures. May 23rd, May 23rd.”

I can only you hope you welcome me back with open arms, the way I would you with a cold embrace. My lips sealed for too long, now they’re longing for the taste. Counter-clockwise, my thoughts circle to me. Opening up my mind and it’s almost time for the world to see. These are my miseries to show, my sufferings. These are mine. May 23rd marks a return, but what comes after that can only be called divine.

Art Film Fine Art Poetry Writing Piece

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