Darlet

truly imperfect i am a butterfly that forsook my own wings

Burning beyond death Are those who whisper "I am not done."

curled inside as soul is the thing called hope singing with vigor

Tied to our branches the bond, the break, the bleeding do not mourn giants

into the blue sky they fly, moving gracefully tenth legion of birds

flicker into dreams wishes of the shooting stars never to be heard

MOUNTAIN

edge

slasher

Ghost

UMBRELLA

bath

juice

masks

scissors