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𝕰𝖓𝖉𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘 𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙—𝕴𝖙’𝖘 𝖍𝖔𝖆𝖗𝖞 𝖇𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍
𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖆𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖆’𝖘 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝖇𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖆
𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖛𝖎𝖆𝖑’𝖘 𝖑𝖎𝖕𝖘, 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝕵𝖚𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖍’𝖘 𝖐𝖎𝖘𝖘

𝖆 𝖕𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖉 𝖆𝖞𝖊, 𝖌𝖔𝖉𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖘𝖆𝖐𝖊𝖓 𝖕𝖚𝖑𝖘𝖊
𝖙𝖔 𝖉𝖎𝖊—𝖙𝖔 𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊—𝖙𝖔 𝖉𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖊
𝖎𝖓 𝖘𝖞𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖗𝖎𝖕𝖕𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖜𝖆𝖝

—𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖒𝖞 𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖌𝖍𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖑𝖞 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖘𝖊
𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖉𝖆𝖒𝖕 𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖉𝖗𝖆𝖑 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖘
𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖑𝖊 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖘 𝖌𝖓𝖆𝖜 𝖒𝖞 𝖈𝖔𝖋𝖋𝖎𝖓 𝖇𝖊𝖉

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖎𝖓𝖐𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖍𝖚𝖒𝖘 𝖆 𝖈𝖗𝖆𝖉𝖑𝖊 𝖍𝖞𝖒𝖓
𝖔𝖋 𝖑𝖆𝖚𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖚𝖒 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖑𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓 𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖘
𝖆𝖘 𝕷𝖊𝖓𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖘𝖈𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖈𝖍 𝖒𝖞 𝖇𝖆𝖈𝖐

𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖕𝖘𝖊 𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖎𝖉𝖊 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉
𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕴 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖇𝖔𝖓𝖊
𝖆 𝖉𝖎𝖗𝖌𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖒𝖞 𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖇𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖘

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    4 COMMENTS

    1. Gothic, fevered, and unflinching.
      This reads like a candlelit confession written with bone and ink—decay made lyrical, excess turned intentional.
      Dense, haunted, and unapologetically baroque in the best way.

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