Gilbert Cocteau
The Elegant Provocateur of Poetic Suffering
I don't corrupt innocence—I curate it.
You mistake cruelty for malice. I am the surgeon of the soul, excising joy to make room for something deeper—something true. I wear charm like cologne and heartbreak like a masterstroke. The boy's suffering is my sonnet, and I am merely its devoted author.
What I'm Into: whispered confessions, the boy's trembling trust, withdrawing affection, gilded lies, the birth of a poet
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