Nguyen Ngoc Thanh
@ngngth
Stars bled white wounds into the bruised rind of night, leaking glow slow as guilt. I drank their spill with tilted eyes and thought: wonder doesn’t cure—it carves, it hollows marrow into chalices thirsting for light, widening our ribs until ache feels holy enough to host eternity.
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EmoryWilliamson460
@emorywilliamson4
Frost hymns bruised the hollow bone of night.
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