[align=center][div style="max-width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-family: nyala; line-height: 13px; font-size: 10pt"]I. Limbs always trembling, never so sure how to carry anything, not even its own weight. Eyes on anywhere but eyes. Feels too intrusive. Too close. Look away. Go away. Head often lowers and forepaws shuffled together express passive attitude. It reeks of blood and chains, but it promises it only have himself to pin on. And it rarely promises. Rocks back and forth when fear sings to it. Shaky paws, heavy soul, it cries crimson. Stares at the unknown, oblivious to reality. Too many times, never ending habit. Feels like it’s dreaming. Floating. It tries to touch whatever is out there to see if what's real and what's not. Please, don't make it go to the unknown. It hopes it’s not tapping against a screen. Hoping hurts.
II. A little child and a little monster, in a vessel it can't ever tell if it is truly its own or someone else. Always, is it trying to scrub the sins off of its flesh, and yet, all it sees is red. Red eyes. Red roses. Red lies. Iron teeth presses into tongue, it bleeds agony and spills them on itself, choking on agony, demeanor coats in cowardice. Celestial child with a voice and movements akin to a ghost—faint, but knowing—as its words and claws cakes with blood. Often mistaken for honey. Its pace is slow, and thickens with unclear emotions, but full of sweet offerings nevertheless. Flesh fragile from merciless bites of flames and oceans, thrown in by both strangers and loved ones. Despite it all, its heart still beats kindness, and that's what makes its tragedy a masterpiece. Let it weep and bleed. It's what makes it brave.
II. A little child and a little monster, in a vessel it can't ever tell if it is truly its own or someone else. Always, is it trying to scrub the sins off of its flesh, and yet, all it sees is red. Red eyes. Red roses. Red lies. Iron teeth presses into tongue, it bleeds agony and spills them on itself, choking on agony, demeanor coats in cowardice. Celestial child with a voice and movements akin to a ghost—faint, but knowing—as its words and claws cakes with blood. Often mistaken for honey. Its pace is slow, and thickens with unclear emotions, but full of sweet offerings nevertheless. Flesh fragile from merciless bites of flames and oceans, thrown in by both strangers and loved ones. Despite it all, its heart still beats kindness, and that's what makes its tragedy a masterpiece. Let it weep and bleed. It's what makes it brave.
[align=center]
❝ THE STAR CHILD ❞ ————————————————————————
Don't tell me the [b]truth . Your world is upside down
You keep pretending . Don't trust your friends
You keep pretending . Don't trust your friends
[b]———————— CAELUM . AGENDER ( ANY PRONOUNS ) . XVIII . [color=#fff]STORAGE