Poetry

a swollen moon

at the heart
of a swollen moon,
a luxury is found;
a tax on the profound.
fountains of pink skies
and clouds that rip apart
like butterfly wings, a paradise
found at the center, a
hell guised as a lover
that will soon surrender.
the silence of the aura lights,
break the sky but even before
we are blinded, i’ve already
shut my eyes; too weary
of aesthetics that seem too
real to be right.✨💫🌃🌙

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