Creamy, silken wings glued together by drops falling down one by one. This butterfly shall flee no more. Reminiscents of an ephemeral hug...
Remembering how it was like to just pour tears whilst being held inside safe. Resorbtion of pestilential wounds, as if they never existed.
Complete healing, leaving no scars. For those arms are soul's plastic surgeon.
Written while listening Yonderboi.
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