𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖈𝖙, 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖎𝖓𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖈𝖆𝖌𝖊, 𝖒𝖞 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒 𝖆 𝖒𝖎𝖗𝖗𝖔𝖗, 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖉, 𝖗𝖊𝖋𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖘𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖊𝖞𝖊𝖘, 𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖒𝖞 𝖔𝖜𝖓. 𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖞 𝖔𝖗𝖇𝖘 𝖋𝖚𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖋𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖞 𝖗𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖜𝖎𝖈𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖛𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝖜𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖚𝖕𝖔𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖘𝖊𝖊𝖒𝖑𝖞 𝖇𝖔𝖘𝖘𝖔𝖒 𝖆 𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍...

I look into your tear-some eyes with profundity. I scout with a penetrating gaze and see your realm of watery graves.   Those eyes of yours are the gates, beyond the reeking eyes is an abysmal mind.   The anguish welled within, there I meet you to bathe...

Under the winter day’s whispery glow, all is quiet here. This is my shattering. No more hymns of breath. Just waiting beside my tombstone. Dressed wildly in vines of time. Had you been a ghost too, would you have noticed me? Must death be the only way? Bound now...