🅿romises bled from the mouth of the moon,
🅾aths carved in fog on a bone-white dune.
🅸 drank from a chalice that mirrored my face,
🆂in made of velvet, stitched into lace.
🅾racles wept in the orchard of skin,
🅽ailed to the silence that echoes within.

🅳eath wore a crown made of whispers and glass,
🆁eality cracked like a serpentine mass.
🅴very mirror refused to reflect,
🅰s shadows grew teeth and began to infect.
🅼y soul is a house where the doors won’t align..
Where dreams drink the dreamer, in slow serpent time.