underground woven smiles— garlic cloves, undiscovered, knapped stones beside cairn piles, birch trees and the white clover, pale, columnated aisle— gowns with sequins of sleet dawning shall then defile, exposing what's beneath to a colourless power: as meat, to be—devoured.

hoisted from the dark hollow, rearing face, wry and wrong; the mangled limbs that followed, clasping fingers still strong; dead, fledged banner of sorrow, a neck whose moans unswallowed and shaped hallowful song— shadow crested tomorrow; sylvan blighted bestowne.

Save their pathetic chud soul

reversible skin, perfect size, worn inside out; scales sloughed off—within.

unhinged jaws gaping, ouroboros emptiness turned upon itself

i'm finding new horror films to watch the only way i know how. one hour plus videos covering weird j-horror titles that sometimes border on lost media.

landscape miniature #3 . the putrid smell rose from beneath the tawny leaves still clinging to what was, for the most part, until now, a frozen soil. once more, however, the seasonal warmth extended the corner of its lips in what appeared to be an amicable smile.

fixing my posture allows my body to better channel the celestial will and also makes you stare at my nipples

jump-starting her halo and watching her face melt rainbow colours

its good to find yourself a little insufferable

but have you considered naked thighs grinding against broken glass?

giallo films are hella boring and i'm not afraid of saying it

just watched my 38th kōji shiraishi film/title and it is still amazing to me how good he is at self-inserting himself /as/ the director, look you dead in the eye and completely bullshit his way through another project. what a legend

i pray you never be forced to justify yourself to a bad faith gaze

did some reconnecting with my roots: watched an insanely low-budget horror film (it was surprisingly vewy scawwy)

*checkmates you in one second flat*

the thing about lo-fi is that it is very surplus value-friendly. it will refuse to get money for it and will probably ask to not use its name because it thinks the final project is a dumpster fire and hopes it fails

it's quick. it's clean. it's pure~

what if we kissed like they do in from beyond 1986

>find a book to read >spends 35min double-checking the crest occupying the frontispiece page because the latin doesn't check out. also it looks very much like the t[]rot chariot card for some reason. >accepts it must've been either a mistake or some typographic limitation >puts off reading the book

from sweat-dewed rippling shudder, pledge-driven kneeling shrill; lower limbs split and doubled, leafed lap, eletric sputter does spread and also fill, cloying red, over-muckle, the gaps through lips anil.

would you read my play if it had vampires? i mean, at least one vampire. and they're kinda sad. and definitely not me nor adam from only lovers left alive. but you're right, i see the resemblance.

would you still love me if i brought you random liquids to drink

prototype

i should interact more with oomfies i'm sowwy i'm sowwy i'm bad at this we're still friends i swear

plunging walls bent for you, embraced by a too boring neutral-grey mid-afternoon, i saw your number in a black screen like closed eyes. i saw autumn-red and winter-white and the green in your arms, i saw you so many times.

*draws the sacrificial knife*

fingers-entwined vacancy, tapering shaft wood-lipped, gold or nickel or chromium head plating, fledging salivapennant, forked and looping, of pale ash, ebony-finished, ferrule for wrists— ceremonial finials tongue-burnished.

silvery as crumpled foil, marbling moth in lace and openwork styled oozing rash and bile, red-stricken and lip- defiled, tongue-split and spit-mottled smothered smile, whose teeth, uncoiled, glisten and coddle, grinding all the while.

headspring fouled, imbued with salmon-rust tinge and hue, filtered through moon thighs which coo and fawn strewn marbling balm- limned thrust; almed midriff's surface run-off, meltwater turned to oil,

I'm normal. I'm being so normal. Everyone can tell that I'm normal.

bored again, wanted to doodle latex emulating the 15th century

What a year so far. 😬

Recent winter trees, I just really like the changes in texture and the way sap discolours certain areas during the cold months. #illustration #environmentart

📹 #oc

I can't resist a fucked up freak

landscape miniature #2 . the fog approached, fading nearby objects and gently brushing particles lighter still than the scattered gravel (now soaking in the humidity) as the former lingered in the air just a few inches from the ground, hovering and whirling aimless.

me trying to not be judgemental despite eyerolling and sighing my way through something: 'lame af but i get it' *occasionally laughing to myself* 'it's ok for what it is' 'i shouldn't say anything, really' ', i guess' '[lying] it's like an art house polish film /pos'

couldn't remember a name for myself,

drawn with steel, as blades can call rain; cloud rills held still, yet they shall rain. the luster under matte skin breaks. bandages cluster: they shan't halt rain.

abrasion-tanned flayed swathe of semi-divest'd skin, too-young blossoms, unswayed, tousled locks still untrimmed; collarbones hewn from calcite, soft acclivous caress— rare contronyms' affright, ankles (gun-shy) undrest, rosy-tinted touched stagger wept by rownsepyking dagger.

Carmilla 🩸🖤

perhaps i should write a play

latticed flesh, folded wrong, glistening on the edges— slithering tongue, twice-pronged, twistling wet, swelted ledges, lapping the molten glass, mouth-cradling murky draught, whose taste, bitter and crass, is copiously quaffed— as bristles, rested, rose from seeds within the trove.

violence hid its face under yours, arms and hands torn and bent under thorns; unrivetting glaze, loud as a roar, as a shout — a scream of pain and more. the salt-gleaned storm of tears that unform, wet-dry and warmth-shorn, crude and abhorred, welcomes you, and neatly, you, adorn.

to the dog that followed me in the rain some years ago and i kept stopping and petting it and it kept following me doing its little jumps asking for uppies.

landscape miniature #1 . skittering alongst the fallen dead-ochre leaves flaking under its otherwise stealthy passage, under a canopy of nameless clouds enframed by the paneless boughs perpassed only by long moonlight arms, its paws groping the pitted surface of an old well's brick lining.

evil nonbinary person: “Everyone who finds me hot is straight”

three outstretched palms, met, dirge-singing into a trough laid with wristless care