Idk.

pindah akun @iKimMing_yu

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀'BLACK LEATHER GOSPEL : ⅋─ ⠀⠀⠀Confessions...? Beneath ⠀⠀⠀|  Smoke ⠀⠀⠀| Veins  ⠀⠀⠀| Unmade Collar ⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✶⠀⠀⠀...⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀...  𖣇⠀Arteries flex beneath ⠀⠀⠀ leather [ &,. ] silver, that veiny ⠀⠀⠀ kingdom of touch twitching ⠀⠀⠀ with illicit invitations I────Midnight wraps him in scentless ink, while that ╱♂⠀languid hand, laced in rings  ⠀&,..⠀⠀time, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀('.. spells a gospel') ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀only the damned would ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ kneel for. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀    ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀•••

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ        𖧂. THE QUIET REIGN OF |      .. ♞ ..            A WEATHERED SOUL.      ( 1:69 )            ❚ He is not stitched from silk, but            ❚ burlap—rough, enduring,            ❚ unapologetically human.     His laughter is rare, but real; his rage,     not theatrical, but tectonic. 𐂥 ) .. Bruised by time, he wears his wounds like regalia. Not a king by crown, but by consequence. He’s the kind of man who doesn’t beg the world to see him—he just keeps standing, even when the light forgets where he is. (激情) ─────── MANHOOD ..           “Calloused hands. Quiet mind.                       Unshaken soul.” He builds, he breaks, he begins again. Without spectacle. Without plea. A quiet reign. A man not made for mirrors.. but for meaning... ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ i woke up to remember that nothing     ever felt real. dreams don’t hold me,   they trap me. i chase shadows, hoping    they’ll lead to something that doesn’t break apart in my hands. sleep isn’t rest, it’s just another place where i lose pieces                           of myself.

my mind still lingers in places it shouldn’t. i write to escape the silence that waits in the dark corners of my head. there’s no peace, just a thousand faces staring back at me. if this is sleep, i don’t want to wake. clockspine

─ rusted time, silent tur

ns. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎         time never ran, only twisted.      i watched hours fold into each other,       like lies told too often. fate doesn’t      knock, it slips in through the cracks.          i stopped counting days when i      realized they all taste the same, dust                         and memory.

✦ XXVIII. THE HEATWALKER        BORN FROM SMOKE & SILENCE        ⟡ Tattoos don’t whisper,        they scream legacy.        | Jawline sharp as judgment        | Wristwatch ticking like war        | Eyes forged in 4AM        | Pulse? Unbothered.      “ .. he walks like every street         was named after him, and         every glance is a challenge. ⓘ         THE HOT BOY •• DOESN’T         ASK FOR SPACE — HE TAKES IT | ..        [..Boots laced with intent,        lips curled with history,]        He doesn't flirt — he disarms.        His laugh carries danger        and daylight follows him home        like a rumor that burns clean.      'X..HOTTEST BOY LIVING (:)                EST. 2001        ⌁ Crown never seen,            but always felt ••• ⓘ