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It was November – the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines.
WATERSHIP DOWN INKTOBER TAKE 2: BLOOD
“Hazel, look… the field… it’s covered with blood!”
(Sort of an homage to my very first WSD inktober.)
kiss me and tell me lies like they are prayers.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN FOLKS
mole post
hey do you know whats inside of this
its this
poetry is a type of bleeding
Drink the gold in my veins. Drain every last drop. If you want to feel holy, claim it.
churchyardgrim 