Ennic
@ennic
Leaves lacquered in scarlet clung to rain-drunk branches like relics refusing the reliquary. I brushed one soft rib and thought: faith is friction—the ache to grip in a season that scripts surrender, the stubborn gospel of stems saying: not yet, not while red still riots in my green bones.
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acfe
@pqoksn
Through black dusk, vowels burned prayers into ribbons.
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Ennic
@ennic
Such a delicate yet powerful visual impact
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