…𝖇𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖒𝖞 𝖖𝖚𝖎𝖑𝖑’𝖘 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖉𝖔𝖔,
𝖔𝖋𝖋 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉, 𝕾𝖊𝖑𝖘𝖚𝖓 𝕭𝖑𝖚𝖊
𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖔𝖜 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖋𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖙𝖔 𝖗𝖔𝖙
𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖎𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖗 𝖉𝖗𝖎𝖕𝖕𝖎𝖓𝖌
𝖙𝖎𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖆 𝖗𝖔𝖕𝖊, 𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖓 𝖔𝖗𝖌𝖆𝖘𝖒
𝖒𝖞 𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖗, 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖉, 𝖜𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖉
𝖇𝖞 𝖆𝖘𝖕𝖍𝖞𝖝𝖎𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝖘𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍,
𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖋𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖞 𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖕𝖎𝖕𝖊
…𝖇𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖒𝖞 𝖖𝖚𝖎𝖑𝖑’𝖘 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖉𝖔𝖔
You’re writing more disturbingly darker than ever, and I love that! Harriet-Jacqui xx
Hi Jacqui! I love the dark and sniffing the cognac on the mean streets of taboo.