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The Porcelain Enigma
In the gallery of dreams, where whispers abide,
She stands—a vision both haunting and wide.
A girl with horns, spiraled and grand,
Emerging from realms no mortal could command.
Her skin, marble smooth, gleams pale as frost,
Each vein a map where the living are lost.
Braided strands of bone crown her hair,
A labyrinth of death, delicate and rare.
Painted in strokes both tender and bold,
Her form, a fusion of new and old.
Luzia’s grace and Carne’s chaotic flow,
Create a face where mysteries grow.
Her eyes hold calm, an eternal unknown,
A paradox carved in a world of her own.
The tension hums, between flesh and surreal,
A moment that quivers, impossible to feel.
Symmetrical beauty commands the frame,
Her porcelain body defies any name.
Volumetric light casts shadows divine,
Every detail as sharp as a blade’s thin line.
Ray Caesar’s whispers, Dan Mumford’s roar,
Marc Simonetti’s hues leave nothing ignored.
She is the balance of chaos and grace,
An abstract goddess, a human trace.
Step closer—behold her crystalline glare,
A sculpted enigma, eternally rare.
For in her stillness, the cosmos bends,
The art of creation that never ends.
with love, By Mojo
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