Arisa K Photography
The Quiet Metamorphosis
Soft-winged ghosts gather where silence sleeps,
resting gently against porcelain skin
as though sorrow itself had learned
how to become beautiful.
One dark eye remains open to the world,
holding the hush of midnight storms
and the ache of things never spoken aloud.
The moths do not hide her—
they crown her.
Fragile keepers of transformation,
drawn to the quiet light she carries
even in darkness.
And beneath trembling wings and shadows,
she blooms unseen—
half dream,
half ruin,
entirely unforgettable.
The Quiet Metamorphosis
Soft-winged ghosts gather where silence sleeps,
resting gently against porcelain skin
as though sorrow itself had learned
how to become beautiful.
One dark eye remains open to the world,
holding the hush of midnight storms
and the ache of things never spoken aloud.
The moths do not hide her—
they crown her.
Fragile keepers of transformation,
drawn to the quiet light she carries
even in darkness.
And beneath trembling wings and shadows,
she blooms unseen—
half dream,
half ruin,
entirely unforgettable.