Skylarmaexo Of Today

You are of the midnight drives and static radio, of the forgotten constellations stitched into the frayed sleeve of the sky.

Skylar, maestro of the quiet hours, of the exhale before dawn breaks, of the ink spill that turns into wings. skylarmaexo of

Of what? Of everything that refuses to fit into a box. Of the half-written song stuck in the throat of the world. You are of the midnight drives and static

(A fragment of starlight and shadow)