dying is an art.

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reclusivesouls:

♡

benjamin-g-craig:

watercolor, pencil, and digital I found a dimpled spider, fat and white, On a white heal-all, holding up a moth Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth— Assorted characters of death and blight Mixed ready to begin the morning right, Like the ingredients of a witches’ broth— A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth, And dead wings carried like a paper kite. What had that flower to do with being white, The wayside blue and innocent heal-all? What brought the kindred spider to that height, Then steered the white moth thither in the night? What but design of darkness to appall?— If design govern in a thing so small. ~ Robert Frost

I’d rather you..

be a tangible presence in my life i.e I can reach out and touch you otherwise I don’t know why you want my attention, sigh.

dying-planet:

♡lonely hearts club♡

vintagenatgeographic:

London’s Trafalgar Square
National Geographic | September 1953

slobbering:

Burning

sacrify:

want T^T

glorifiedgoth:

x

A rose encased in ice