
Marcel Wormsley
They Have Drunk…

They have drunk from your decanter of sorrows. Bathed in your iniquity. What remains then of a tattered phantasm, A consciousness vulnerable to the mind, Yet vulgar to the eye? Loneliness is a velvet cocoon, Slowly ripped to fine shreds by the restless Light of your virtue.
Art: “The Loneliness” Anna Pronskaya
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