#dorans

[my-jersey-life]

Not one of the Jersey hotels that you often hear about but tonight we are staycationing in The Revere, a family run hotel in St Helier. This is my birthday treat from the boyf, including bubbles and chocolates in the room and dinner tonight at Doran’s Courtyard Bistro, one of our favourite restaurants. The hotel is an old coach house and the oldest part of the building is 17th century. We love it’s quirky features and the fact that we are in a four poster room - up in the top of the hotel. Best feature for me - a bathtub (I don’t have one at home 😢). We decided to stay here as there is a risk that this place will be knocked down soon although we sincerely hope not. Warning: pictures of food may be imminent later on today! . . . . . #jerseyci #jerseychannelislands #jersey #dorans #doranscourtyardbistro #reverehotel #fourposter #birthdaytreat #bubblesandchocolates #march #visitjersey #visitjerseyci #theislandbreak #familyrun #supportlocal #staycation #lovewhereyoulive (at St. Helier, Jersey) https://www.instagram.com/p/CMFbt9Nj-sj/?igshid=b1tqmjtqm8hl

[poehao]

#Dorans #omega vs #esev #zephyr - #LoL #eSportsHouse010 #Rotterdam #eSport #eSports

[bekkomi]

PokeFebChallenge

Day Thirteen: Favorite Kalos Pokemon

Aegislash

[sexdrugstucknroll]

[gankmeifyoucan]

Dolan's Blade

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[showmesomeshows-blog]

[dorans-death]

Phosphorant Secrets

Sunday, a foolish delusional day creeping in and engulfing the area with her pink flames. But these visions are snared within my delusion and nowhere near a reality. And when I unravel, it's only self-discovery.  Am I Sunday? Does the grin of these foul souls conflagarate my mind? First a meander, to stumbling, then a swagger. And the sun excreted pinks tonight, within my mind she was still there. The essense of Sunday, still haunting. Still a lingering ghost taunting. Then the undercurrent hits, the third time in this month. The month is getting darker, she's dying. A birth; September is born. But Sunday still carries on throughout them And now i'm escalating to a point that i'm only painting things in the pinkish outline in what I saw that day, when Sunday took her last breath and gifted Monday. Yet cursed us. How I miss you Sunday, you are my love. The sun screams your name for hours, the feelings get swept away every night to portray the  glacial touch of the moon. Oh how you haunt us moon. I scream for Sunday sometimes, Just to see that sun exhale her phosphorant secrets. And I observe the desperate humans snatch a glimpse of her. That beautiful sunset as she respires into the night. She turns evil when I sleep. And does evil things to my mind.

The discernment is gone. I am stuck in a dazed dream during the night. I cannot hear the birds calling, and her song sing. As the sun waits for her day. Sunday again, three days before, a father had to bury his son during the night. An abhorrent barrage of bullets roar into his flailing body, and the blood percolates from his body, his aunt is begging and pleading the murderer, but to no avail. She kills herself on the night of saturday. Her soul seeps into the depths of the earth, and is held into a collective state where all souls are now kept. And now I shatter it every Sunday, letting the souls dance to the suns radiant smile. And they dance with me until Moon is bestir.  A frantic dance. And the sun returns to work after the moon kills us again. She sings again for her day. Sunday.