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No blood beats in my veins
but ink that flows like a river,
black and thick, like night,
but full of light and poetry.
My skin is a parchment,
a map of stored stories,
where time is a destiny,
and tears, sealed letters.
The moon dictates verses to me,
the stars are witnesses
of the love that in my universes
transforms shadow into shelter.
This is how my ink flows,
in the noise of silence,
a song to the world, a melody,
that celebrates the ethereal and the dense.