#withinshxdows

[boyslost-archive]

+3

@demented-king @lostblondeprincess @withinshxdows

“I don’t think you really care.”

[ofjcurnalism-blog]

@withinshxdows​

            “’...And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;            And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor            Shall be lifted- nevermore!’”

Raph finished the awfully long poem and set the poetry collection down with a sigh, breathing the fresh air finally, the book had smelt of must and old pages. Lovely, though not for the ten minutes it had taken to read the thing.

“I will never discount the classics, they are amazing, and I adore the greats... But you don’t realize how long some of those pieces take to read out loud until you do it. This class is the best and the worst.”

[bonsoiir-blog]

    Normally, Tyrell enjoys clear skies and crisp nights, with a wind chill just enough to redden his nose at the end. It’s a relaxing type of day. The gold city lights blink lazily in every direction, and there’s a distinctive cloud of white vape smoke curling in the air from the balcony above the bar. It smells of a sweet burn, and the bar inside is dark, classy, with women in thin white dresses. (No women in suits, oh, thank God.) But this is not a normal night.

     He approaches the bartender, and his fingers itch, incessantly, horribly, like he’s prone to peel the skin off. He’d do anything to crawl out of his body. Anything to hold back the nausea, the fear, the anxiety pounding in his chest and making his temple throb. This is what Elliot must feel all the time, he thinks. He looks at the bartender, a young-looking girl with sharp, definitive features. “Hello,” he tries, and his voice is steady. Wonderful. He doesn’t sound like he’s just killed someone. “What is your name?”