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Log. reaching the triumph : “Epilog” ──Il

Log. reaching the triumph : “Epilog” ──Il

@searaphina

(E. 20, 48) | triumphant ambition in the abyss of destruction, has reached at the point of common sense ; “Henceforth O' Every twist is a journey” the unspoken venomous word. @thanraa
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Recent Posts 19 shown
Post #260 29
00:00 wita, happy new year.
Post #247 26
ㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤ THOT GHOST KEEP HUNTING ME
ㅤㅤㅤ (+1980.) GLOOMY──SUNDAY 🪦.

Porcelain dolls with long-haired black wigs and super dark dress I bought on sunday it actually alive, her eyes moving everynight and she looks like a real human. “Do you wanna be ma friend?” said her, kinda confused at first but I realized that living alone sucks so I said yes.

ㅤㅤㅤ (D:OLL)ㅤ&.ㅤCREEP-Y.ㅤ+999
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ but──orchids──fade???


ㅤㅤㅤ I start dressing like her, wearing
ㅤㅤㅤ all black stuffs like dress skirts
ㅤㅤㅤ and makeups. we're bestfriend,
ㅤㅤㅤ we always look onto eachother.

ㅤㅤㅤ“When I die, I wanna be a doll.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ The End.
ㅤ
ㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
Post #245 18
                               
VEILED BY NOCTURNAL REVERIE AND
THE QUIET.. ACHE OF OLD SHADOWS
SHROUDED IN A SOMBER SPLENDOR.

(Obscure-Reveries-Threads.) In the quiet umbra of the night, I drift through a corridor of dusky murmurs, carrying the faint redolence of withered roses and half-forgotten longing. The air feels saturated with an ancient hush, a kind of velvet stillness that presses against the skin like a lingering.

           SHADOWS THOSE LANGUID
       DELIBERATE PHANTOMS—FOLD
                                  •
       SOUL A WANDERING THROUGH
           OBSIDIAN HUSH, STITCHED


                                 🦇             

Somewhere above, the moon hangs like a pallid sentinel, its glimmer fractured into silvery motes that tremble on the edge of recognition. Every step feels woven with obscure reveries, threads of somber splendor, and a strange, aching gentleness that refuses to vanish.
                
Post #244 18
                                 
      LINGERING WISP OF MELANCHOLY
      DRIFTING  THROUGH  CATHEDRAL.
                                  /
      In   The   Hollow   Hush  Of  Twilight
      Fragile Ghosts Murmur Velvet Tone
      (Cradled  In A Dusk-Born Requiem.)
           
Post #237 36
                     
          serenades for the nightshade
          morbid mirth,  unearthly wort
          strands of spider silk bind my
              Gothic-Midnight-Gloomy.

    777.              Inked—Year’s.

       the darkness seemed to haunt
       and terrorize me, who was lonely,
       unhappy with everything, and
       heartbroken. gloomy night.

          writing with a creepy situation
          full of unsolved mysteries, nym.

   me and the scary night

           the darkness that continues,
        the appearance that follows the
    darkness, the mystery that becomes
           dark: dark and dark, lonely.
                                                                                          
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