he was desperate: too in love with the madness in his soul that came with applause and with people laughingsmilinglaughing at him; the concerts halls smoked up with the devil and the afterparties full of hands clapping his shoulders because it was only him making it. and he had carved immorality into the drug-sick swaying… Continue reading poem: seungri, burning sun
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i could be bound in a nutshell and count it as infinite space if not for these bad dreams
the last pavilion 