Mad — not your maid.
Not wearing red,
Not a bride.
An individual — not your twilight.
It’s my dead ocean — ghost of turquoise.
Don’t scream — in sirens, sink.
It’s Aphrodite’s sea-foam, revived.
Now submerge — just drown.
You trident-touched tide.
Oct 29, 2025
Oct 29, 2025 at 9:04 AM UTC
Mad — not your maid.
Not wearing red,
Not a bride.
An individual — not your twilight.
It’s my dead ocean — ghost of turquoise.
Don’t scream — in sirens, sink.
It’s Aphrodite’s sea-foam, revived.
Now submerge — just drown.
You trident-touched tide.