pure hex

Like a person who just arrived, innocent confusion always shine in her eyes; she doesn't belong here with us. Enigmatic origin, was it her overflowing kindness or morbid curiosity that made her end up breathing and share our depravity? I don't know.. she might be testing us... A devotee of self-destruction, that religion of primordial motive, I loved staring at her like a monster baffled by serenity; witnessing the moment she tastes Time and surpass its density, get crushed by the freedom of naivete, supernatural timidity. Doubt is my niche, but since only a shrine escapes its own cells, I've continued praying to her with the lyricism of a slave.

Her absence conquers, her unassuming glances, her subtle gestures give her the appearance of a nostalgic mystic. A rare kind, you can only find her, if you believe she's worth looking for. Inside the decadence of Harar, when it was easy to handle hatred, when only love was suspect, her soothing voice was a struck of fortune. Frenzy under inert sky, from my budding cynicism, of teenage angst, I wanted to lick the nectar of her virgin brain. Although her skin was transparent as an infant, her soul was ancient, begotten in the image of a tear. From the moment she pressed me against her chest, her occultic shape, I knew her memory will forever be my refuge. Ambient style, with a heart that currents against nature, it was evident she communes with the invisible. Violently dejected from human hubris, unearthly conclusions flowed from her mouth. In this cyanosing reality, her anti-ego conspiracy became my breath of the imagination. An intoxicating calmness that lingers for days, a piece of Barbelo contained in a single place, near her presence, you'll doubt all the anatemas you spit on this life, and say to yourself: perhaps it is possible...

So much in her was incompatible with life that you could not look at her without thinking it's your last time together. Although her sun runs to quickly consume your loneliness, she will be your last crawl before you succumb near the oasis of eudaimonia. Indulged in all the drugs of solitude, her ways are of double crucifixion, fornication with hope, parody of pain. Moments of poised termination, with each lapse full of God's nothingness, her face oxidize under the kingdom of Biology. Live beside her, you'll watch yourself die of total unconcern.

— dedicated to the peculiarly divine ፳ ፲፱ ፭ ፰ ፩ ፳፭