The Graveyard

Don’t Be Afraid; Evil Is Weak.

And all that will be left is the truthful beauty, and the beautiful truth.

1 week ago -

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(via th3curiosity)

1 week ago -

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Strange Fruit - Billie Holiday

3 weeks ago -

1

fear-death:

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Her house was laced with sweetened delights, every mug had an accompanied doily, and the many leather bound books on the mahogany bookshelf smelled like apples. There was a sunlit drawing room (as she called it because she had come from a different age when such luxuries were called as such) where the evening sun rays filtered through the white lace curtains and dazzled all the dust specks. The couch sported a homemade crochet blanket, draped over the green and fading fabric. On the walls were cross stitched patterns, framed pictures of children and framed collections of insects. But amongst these pleasantries, were faint hints of some dark psychotic mind. A passing glance might miss the beautifully stitched words “Murder” sown into the pillow that sat on the love-seat in the drawing room. An unobservant watcher might not notice the the blue and rotting finger pinned among the collection of butterflies that hung on the wall. And only a careful gardener would ever notice the bloodstains on hidden blades under the lawn mower. This lady, otherwise was terribly sweet. So sweet in fact, you might get a tooth ache just talking to her. And we did, and we were terribly sweet in return because deep down we all knew and none of us wanted to get on her bad side; the tinkling of her carefully carved bone-white wind chimes reminded us every time we passed her house.

(via th3curiosity)

3 weeks ago -

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