Don’t ever turn around and look back again. That’s not who you are, and this body is a garden. Harvesting soullessness in the midst of hours after dusk. A revolving mask. The masks we wear.
Around the time of night. Visions off nothing specifically distinguishable. Gasping into reality. No face at all. Bowed upon vibrational tonality. Reversed and rampant with vigorous emotions. Swarming emotions. Never really seeing each other again, but the memory.