I’m Dead Inside and Dying More Everyday @memoriesinflatlines - Tumblr Blog

Oh, hello.

I love him so much 🥹

Hag stones, also known as Holey Stones or Witch Stones, are stones that have a naturally occurring hole and are usually found near oceans and other bodies of water. They are said to be powerful protection talismans, and when worn or carried they protect the bearer from curses, hexes, negative spirits, and harm. They have also been used to prevent nightmares, being strung on a bedpost or placed underneath pillows. It is also believed that if you peer through the hole of the stone that you can see the Fae Folk and otherworldly entities. If one broke, it is thought to have used its power to protect a life.

(x)

heavenhillgirl

memoriesinflatlines

Tutti i colori del buio (1972), Sergio Martino

blomskvist

Jennifer’s evil. I mean, she’s actually evil. Not high school evil.

I’m dreaming about you again lately, and I cry in every dream and wake myself up.

I don’t know how to love you anymore

so please don’t love me back

nataliadrepina

Keen sence of autumn. (Part 2) Bad Blood is looking for the way out to soak the black earth. Leaves, scarlet as fresh wounds, as if skin were torn off them, feel most acutely for autumn. And it seems that my heart is no longer beating in my chest, but it is fading. I fall on the asphalt, as if the wind picked me up and left me to die on the side of the road, like other children of autumn. The crows and rooks took pity on me - they pecked out my eyes… And I no longer see how painfully dying October.. I just have to listen to the alarming birds voices and winds lullabies. Cold binds the body and mind. And the rain will not quench our thirst of death. In the mass grave, like the nameless soldiers of autumn, we find peace while our red wounds fade and our flesh blackens with ulcers… … Дурная кровь ищет пути наружу, чтобы напоить черную землю. Листья, алые как свежие раны, словно с них содрали кожу, острее чувствуют осень. И мне кажется, будто моё сердце уже не бьётся в груди, но увядает. Я падаю на асфальт, словно меня, как и других детей осени, подхватил ветер и бросил умирать на обочине дороги. Вороны и грачи сжалились надо мной - выклевали мои глаза… И я больше не вижу как мучительно умирает октябрь. Мне осталось только слушать тревожные голоса птиц и колыбельные ветров. Холод сковывает движения и мысли. И дожди уже не утолят в нас жажду смерти.В братской могиле, как безымянные солдаты осени, мы обретаем покой, пока выцветают наши красные раны, пока чернеет язвами наша плоть…