♬☆ 𝗬υε ★ ♔

https://www.wattpad.com/story/305483076
            
          Hi there, kindly share some of your love for my new book ^^ it's a completed yoongi short story, your support really means a lot
            
          Take care and have a great day ❤

HHHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII im unfollowing ppl sowwy, im only following writers, or other ppl i feel like

a small token of kindness (8th November 2021) 
          
          the clock of russet leaves and almond wings rouses the sun with a flick of pumpkin coffee; a race with the futuristic tragedies and constellations of adulterated secrets. what lives in it, a cage. and a pair of weeping hands that struggle to shroud the prisoner with a silken petunia. 
          
          and in the nights, the moon scrambles through the fisted stars; the mesh a séance of the gemmed fascinations. what appears is but a nonchalant melancholy, an ivory girl dressing the dark with its daisy's crescent. however, what does not meet the swallowed orb is the scene under the nose; only the tip of the ice berg. 
          
          within the vacancies of the oceans is a void of the laid laws; of the buried losses and alive tongues. what is reciprocation, what is history, but a repetition of the molded lie, of a flower set in Iguazu's mouth; the one that is drowned each day, every year, under the sparrow's sea. what is present is a pulchritudinous loss, clothed as freshly plucked darkness; held in a mother-like womb. 
          
          royale roses and blood baskets are a testament of the sky's shoulders and the heart of a human a casket of moon freckles, guarded in red vessels. how does this organ then be a coast of calm? why does the rib hold it at a knife's point? 
          
          the heart seeks what defies gravity, the luminous sin from a frosted envelope. it is not dirt that settles, rather a flamingo that grazes the pebbled waters. hold it, mold it, like the sky that shapes the sun and conceals the moon. perhaps that is what the aim is after all; to break the singular mass in you and reform it into the shape of universe. 
          
          for you are just half a heart, incompletely constructed. like the sun and the stars that are half of the skies and half of you. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (7th November 2021) 
          
          the scalpel defines the wounds of the dense sun, the world but a vanilla skin of the organ; of chrysalis stitches and butterscotch flecks. much of it blends into the greedy seas, into the wilting petunias of the shallow springs and the words of prey that are consumed by the foam of the lunatic cosmos. 
          
          the collisions are where the alike attract and the opposite succumb to a ground of smoldering verses; a casket of collected limbs. vast parts of its anthem are consumed by the purple of the living  wounds; a clean glow contaminated with the wailing dawn. 
          
          marks are left around, smells are planted like the crabapples that grow with desperate blackbirds, hungry are proposed with the helpful pledges of sorrow and the dances of the mothers are engulfed in a crown of their martyred uteruses. 
          
          what one knows is but a thing of newness; a fresh torch of obstinate piety and poetry breaths through flowers of chestnut. sourness of the fingerprinted  letters carry a hundred and twenty furies, each one a call, a summoning to your ten different beings. 
          
          without an understanding, what is love and admiration but a fool's plate of food? any life without a name is a treasure lost to the sea, like the pearl that remains canvassed between origami ornaments. 
          
          what is cherished, is discovered; stared at and longed for. the fumes, the inks, the curtains of disguises, the patterns, the scars and the rib veiled hearts are traced, with fingertips of delicate onyxes. 
          
          the sun and the moon are but the creatures of clay; unknown and unalive. however with identity, they are companions of the confederate roses; of bleeding hands and blackberry silences. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (6th November 2021) 
          
          there is a wave of longing that flattens over the sun in its treasured loneliness; like the beads of the blue sky that touch the breath bare, wishing for an acceptance more intimate. the frail lavenders harbour near the eyes of summer; like a deal signed by the deceased, sun a phantom of Medea. 
          
          octobers are souls of the ones who have no longer their minds within; like the moon that floats with its home beneath. afraid is the ancestor of the frames of its successor, while it is restless under the shadow of rusted regrets. without the burns of the sweet river, no body has been able to make time out of life. 
          
          decay is prominent, the bones a sign of immortality. what rolls away is skin, the cloth of the human; the mind a passion of the stars that stay through generations. beyond the scenic sunsets, there exists a socket of ribs; of those who perished and the vases of young ache a decoration of the monochromatic sky. 
          
          the sun finds warmth through the stories it holds and the moon coolness from its.  the warmth turns to fire and the cool wind to a rigid winter. where stories exist, there lives a mind. a game of tenderly using poison. 
          
          minds suffocate, they live above the rest. and like the sun and moon, they are a little warm and cold and a bit like burning winter and freezing summer. what comes from these sometimes is sweet venom; useless yet an addictive ocean. one may suffer, one may be pulled to the bottom. but there never really is an ocean, the mind a gifted ghost of illusion. 
           #adropofhumanity 

a small token of kindness (5th November 2021) 
          
          down the train of dawn, lives a tooth of ember pain. it peeks each day through the window of sheer rain, one that is unseen to naked eye. oceans of grief and waves of shuddering leaves cloud the horizon, stretched across the marks of twilight violence. 
          
          the race of storms touches the rage of the lungs, the interracial mingling a sign of the begotten hills of home. where the place of honeysuckled childhood is abandoned and the one poem of earth is promised a tongue of submission. 
          
          land is but a design of permanent perishment, the sky a palace of parchment shielded woman. the presence of howling wildness amplified, the screams of green screened by mulberry blood. the cracks of the heart touch the scarlet springs, flowing with flesh of the briefly cuddled kid. 
          
          where there are miracles, there is insanity. a form of compassion with glaze of doubt. unknown hurts, the known scars. sounds of mocking, a maleficent knocking exists by the sane mind, the insane half a companion of the lost marigolds and blood. 
          
          insanity is pure; a part of normality, tender to touch and soft to sores. the sun is a friend of the indigo hearts, of those who value the anise of freedom; and a foe of the sane abysses. where there is sanity there are holes with prison bars; a plea to escape. paths and patterns are found in lost kingdoms, in grounds of the silence breaths. 
          
          like the sun and the stars that flee the dark abode, that race against themselves to find a spot, the mind must imprison itself, to become a bit on the loose. 
           #adropofhumanity 

❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️
          ❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️♡❤️

a small token of kindness (3rd November 2021) 
          
          the coat of night is cloaked with crimson dust, the morning dew a signature of its blooming ashes. when the sun awakens, there is an ancient rhyme that spreads; far from irises, free from eclipses. 
          
          moths relinquish in the deserted divinity, life a segment of luxury and wellness. winters brace the emptiness, the soul's hand caresses the twigs of aged pain. skies are dampened with a half of the earth's oceans and the three thousand tears that collide with the moon; like its shadow that glides over the sunflower. 
          
          the brush of baby breaths against the buried memories is similar to the walk of the widow; laden with heaviness irrespective of the bad or good in them. to forget the last summer is a tragedy, to lean into it a forced responsibility. 
          
          where there is monstrosity, there is awareness. everything right is in simplicity; the world a mesh of celebrated complications. crevasses exist, fear a dynamic of every body. what we are most afraid of we must become in order to earn a stature of equilibrium. 
          
          to breathe, one must set aside the burden of living. allow life to be fueled with little. relief is found in emptiness, in nakedness, in raw depth. 
          
          like the sun that chooses to appreciate the littleness of the Earth, we must allow our hearts to explore the chaos of garnet and grapevines. for after all, have our hearts not been moulded but to be little glass ochres of residual sunsets? 
           #adropofhumanity 

❝ how many of you didn't know certain things about yourself until you discovered them after spending a few hours with a new friend or going on holiday with your cousins? then suddenly you came across a trait you never knew you had. it's like you have to go through new experiences to know how you'd respond to them.
          
          
          you need to taste new food to find out what your favourite cuisine is. you need to press your feet into the sand and the ocean to remember how good it feels. you need to laugh at a few jokes before you learn more about your humour. you need to meet people, talk about life, philosophy and politics to know what your views on those matters truly are. you need to feel happiness like never before to realise what it means to you and how much you need it in your life.
          
          
          and you need to feel pain on the hands of people that you'll accept you don't need going forward. you need to fall head over heels in love with the wrong person to know what it's like when it's with the right. and sometimes you need to go through the darkest moments in your life so that when they pass - you realise that you want to truly welcome the light. ❞ 

a small token of kindness (25th October 2021) 
          
          when the light strikes the earth, like the anthem of fisted floral bows, the world swing itself with the honeysuckles; a place to find a precious breath of garnet breath and an escape from the remorse of the passing tune.
          
          a hopeless mind carves into a sector of amulet-carved sun; where the crimson feet walk with the ocean's tremor. what one finds is nothing but a reminiscent reflection of the steps of the hollowed hearts; a war that had gifted salted delirium and cursed shells of optimistic odes. 
          
          what was deemed impossible by destiny's copper shined organs shall never find an acceptance like the honeyed- colossal raging ribs; a power in the chest, in the crest, like a phantomic barrier. 
          
          but has the world ever bent to rules? what are those sweet asylums to the ones who have drowned to abyss; to the Queen Anne's lace? it has summoned and bowed to night's thicketed crescents. it has pocketed the bones and preserved them in sweet alyssum. the more the earth has fled, the better it has bloomed. 
          
          the sun wanders; claiming the nights and what it holds. cauldron collapses; it is now a being of charmed control. what it cannot brace with its thirty touch, it sanctions with its stretched sobriety. the dagger draws itself against the mother- cloaked soil, spilling the shadows and the shades of the indigo ghosts before it reaches the night in the pearls. 
          
          albeit through a lustre of waves, the sun collapses within the moon's reflection; fever of a longing meet causing a platonic ripple.
          
          nothing quite is impossible. what you wish for can be achieved, whether it be catastrophic magic or fierce tempest of the confederate roses. let your veins run recklessly through the woods. many a life and many a dream have been saved by gracing death like a woodbine's peck; like the sun that closes upon death with the light of Aster. 
           #adropofhumanity