ValerieVivegnis

The seed is planted, amongst the ash it lies, The soil begs for rain. Quixotic ideal cascades from the skies. What blooms is no flower, but a haunting mirror of pain. It flickers with life like fire. From the core it erupts like hungry flame. Tendrils break ground, seeping malevolent ire. Hissing miasma unwinds. Upon ardor and requiem it builds its pyre. To the amaranthine perdition it tethers, fetters, and binds. The fuel it seeks, proclivity. The catalyst, ambivalence within the mind. A spark is lit, growing to undying enmity, Blazing black with plight. Fulminant is the sibylline sanity. The blooming animus transmogrifies day to ni