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‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - ♡ - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵
What crosses heaven or hell? Marked dances sing the fables, everyone comes and goes, listening to the marked graves everyone leaves and roots. Many come and go, never once looking at the broken they left to rust, so call it a miracle. Someone spent their time nursing it back to health, making their flowers bloom, making their dance a river flow, till nothing left was hope.
A starry night covered the hope, leaving nothing but a pure mistake. No one can stay this happy in a superhuman world, in a regular world. Cold and numb, a butterfly covered the anarchy, watching silently as its wings shed no more. A mark of an end, a speck of despair, heaven's gate shut no more. There's nothing mere but a golden mistake left behind.
What's left to bear? What's left to hide? Nothing. Nothing is left to show nor hide. Everything is on its own. There's nothing left of near despair, only agony. A God passed off as a legend. A God can tear many apart, telling them what's this and what's that. People follow that blindly, dedicating their life to it till nothing's left other than a mere hope. Death and life, death and remorse, what else does a story take and tell? I wonder, what's there of a legend when nothing is left but a name.
... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ..
"You know, I would have my head off if I stayed with you any longer."
