The words
The petals
On a flower that
Thrives by appearance
Is only
Will merely
Be a flimsy
Taste of what's inside
Why price
By the eyes
The symmetry
Of flawed beauty
As though
As most
Are weighed by
Thoughtless ideals
For those
Four arrows
A sma...
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they stare at their shadow, a quicksilver reflection, trapped inside a gateway to a fantastical world of myths and glass sculptors. only a contract, the demon whispers, can grant a mortal this dream. to be immersed in the cushions of safety, aware but unaware of eternity—who would dare be the first to show their back?
