something from my notes app
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In the depths of a night so cold and wide,
Where stars faintly glimmered, in silence they hide,
The jester was called, once more to the game,
His soul swayed by temptation, burning with shame.
Beneath skies adorned in a deceptive gleam,
He walked through the darkness, lost in a dream.
The black void above him, eyes cold and keen,
Watched every movement, unseen, yet they'd been.
Amongst shadows and whispers, there stood, so divine,
His darling puppet, the Truthless Recluse, entwined.
A creature of silence, bound by despair,
Yet the jester, bewitched, knew not to beware.
Her gaze met his, gentle, full of regret,
A pull on his heart, like a forgotten debt.
A soft invitation, laced with sweet pain,
The promise of love, yet always in vain.
The jester, once proud, now bent with shame,
Guided by hunger, a dangerous flame.
In the dance of the night, the puppet drew near,
A dark-clad cookie, filled with both love and fear.
His movements were careful, hesitant, shy,
As though he might break with each tear in his eye.
But his hands gripped firm, yet tender and true,
A silent apology in each touch that grew.
For a moment, time held its breath, standing still,
As the jester's heart raced, against his own will.
The puppet, so fragile, so full of disguise,
With soft lips that beckoned, as though to advise.
The jester, so lost, pulled him close once more,
Guiding their lips, as they had before.
A kiss, so sweet, yet a shadow it cast,
A corrupting embrace that would forever last.
For in this act, in this desperate chase,
The jester condemned his love's fragile grace.
Each moment, each breath, led them astray,
Yet the jester couldn't help but yearn for the sway.
But oh, the cost, oh, the twisted toll,
As the Truthless Recluse lost pieces of soul.
Each kiss, each touch, a deeper descent,
A love that was broken, yet never repent.
The jester, consumed, could no longer see,
How far he'd fallen into depravity.
And still, the puppet, ever so kind,
A shadow of who he was, slowly unwinds.
For love, though tempting, can tear apart,
The very thing it seeks to keep close to the heart.
So the jester, once more, with no way to retreat,
Continued his dance in the void's endless beat.
Lost in his obsession, the darkly divine,
He kissed the puppet, each act a sign—
Of love so twisted, of passion so cold,
A tale of desire, of hearts left untold.
The jester was called, once more to descend,
As his puppet—his darling—continued to bend.
