~A Curse Immortale ~

July 15, 2026

I am remiss to starve your smile enchanted when it dilapidates upon the ruins of precognitive exposure. The splash of sunken tip is a scar upon our spiral, and every gasp of spare entwine deepens the row in our parting. Maladaptive hunger strays in waste where donor once caved in blissful pull, and the cerulean dance bartering heaven with heart has become an unstable misnomer. Cruel is this lethargy burying what is within what may never see. Even more cruel is the cusp on which we're sliced. Night after night, in spite of life's light, we descend the harrowing all. For what? Brief purchase? A vandalized awe in possibility? Could it be that our unquenchable thirst for what is an insipid truth at best has addicted us to treasonous beat? Could it be we are wrong to thirst immortale?