Asleep. Finally.
It’s been four days since the last time your lover granted himself reprieve from the ceaseless…
Sometimes we see what we want to seePerhaps I’ve blinded myselfBecause I don’t want to knowThat maybe you don’t love me
To want is to be vulnerable
So the heart makes itself a graveyardAccepting every desire with no judgements, no…
Torishma’s chest beats thunder —his drum brought this storm our people needed. his heavy breath, the wind that billows around our tentand…
A prodigy of sorts in art, bare minimalism your style, paper thin images of pain and longing. Stark, cool images surround me in the…
Grave Dirt Love
