chunks of flommus
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Kayla Walker
beautifully flawed
So focused on perfection, The concept, the ideal, Fixated on correction, You’re stripped of what is real. You’re stressed-out and you’re fretting, So focused
looking glass
With blackened eyes Bold, daunting guise, And bloodstained scars inflamed; Submerged in smoke, A darkness woke, Her tortured soul unframed. Veiled, fiendish sight, Devoid of light, In
misfortune’s sea
Carmine, crimson, colours red, Across the floor they swell and spread, Like surging waves they overtake, Forming ruts within their wake. Grains of