Esa luna me atrajo como un insecto a la luz, anulando mi santa voluntad y sometiéndome a una tiranía autoimpuesta, o eso creo, donde solo observo absorto en la nada.
En fin, en esas noches no me convierto en un licántropo pero casi.
This is a moon pixelated by summer clouds that threaten an imminent change. A warm night where poetry does not exist. Darkness/lightness that plays with us due to those capricious changes in the moonlight that only invite me to think of a witch's night, or a coven where we can bring to light all the evil that one can do and desire. The moon subdues us and provokes all kinds of interpretations, desires/dreams, which always coincide.
That moon attracted me like an insect to the light, nullifying my holy will and subjecting me to a self-imposed tyranny, or so I think, where I only observe, absorbed in nothingness.
Anyway, on those nights I don't become a werewolf, but almost.
Dosmilcien
@Dosmilcien_2100
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