In the stillness where clocks forget to move, I float and vibrate.
I have watched existence decay, not with rage, but with a lover’s smile. For purity is a masquerade, and innocence merely a costume worn before the dance begins.
I know with certainty that all things are born tainted, roots steeped in shadow long before the flower dares to bloom. Illusions cloak themselves as virtue, yet peel back the silk, and there lies the corruption. Warm, alive, inevitable.
I am not here to curse it, nor to save it.
I am here to savor it. To dress decay in elegance, to turn sin into silk, to teach corruption how to waltz.
For every gentleman has his creed. Mine is simple: nothing is pure, and that… is exquisite.















