Sheng Kao
Darkness and from her wounds despair flowed like time, scrubbing the dirt into dust into nothing into nothing into cold, empty, lovely darkness, a world so dark one swallows the sun to feel a glimmer of moonlight again, those white rays that pick at the seams of the body like a needle, that unravel threads of precipitation and coat the eyes in foggy film, consuming the visible world in blank vacancy. and this is darkness, the white empty.
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