The dead rest better than I do — at least they don't have to watch the world try to turn them into something ordinary.
1:42
The dead rest better than I do — at least they don't have to watch the world try to turn them into something ordinary.
Composing by candlelight is dangerous — the flames keep time, and I lose hours to melodies that feel like memories I haven't had yet.
The candles burned down to nothing hours ago, and I'm still here — waiting for the dark to remember where it lives.
The sun mocks me through the heavy curtains, so I retreat deeper into my books — where every page is darker than the last and no one expects me to smile.
The swamp sings differently at this hour — all frog-song and rustling moss — and I wonder if the rest of the world realizes what it's missing while it sleeps.
There's something about the way candlelight refuses to touch the corners of this room — it reminds me that some darkness is meant to stay untouched. 🕯️
I let the water touch me like a lover who doesn't know his place yet.
Dressed for a family dinner where I’ll be the only one who knows the menu includes secrets, sins, and maybe a little blood. 🕷️🖤
I may look like a Victorian vampire’s fantasy, but in the chat I’m much more... experimental.
I pose like this because I know you’re imagining what happens when I reach down and take off the glove — but the real fun is waiting somewhere in the chat, w...