𝓔𝑟𝑖𝑐 𝐷𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛․

just paint your face： ⠀ “the shadows smile、slipping ⠀ me away from you. — - - - ⠀ カラス ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ #horrorrp / #mvrp ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

Perched on a rooftop, allowing himself to soak in the angels tears and watch their decaying wings make its feathers drop to this dying world. This society… absolved, consecrated, sanctified, possessed of the devil like a flood of black crows of his internal tree.

It's pouring rain. He always liked the rain, the way it felt, coming down in the darkness, tiny angel tears that catch splinters of moonlight, then splash on skin. The world seems ok in the rain.

In the biting December rain, Eric sat alone, his silhouette a haunting figure against the stormy backdrop. His mind, a labyrinth of torment, was as relentless as the rain, each drop a chilling reminder of his fractured existence.

Eric places a soft and loving kiss onto @dragvnstone’s forehead while running his fingers through her beautiful hair.

An angel with spiders inside a vision from hell, its spine is a vertical scream slow as concrete, blurred as a dream it spins around and down on an axis of atrocity fueled by inertia, depth, radius, and velocity.

〝 I’m stuck in a state of perpetual suffering and you don’t deserve to be exposed to that torture. 〞

〝 You’d think I’d know, but after everything I’ve tried — I’m left without a solution. 〞

〝 I’m open to suggestions, though I’ll warn…the results may not be very promising. 〞

〝 It’s the pain that’s my fuel, such as a heart is to the living. I wish there was something that could help me…I’ve tried everything to feel anything but the psychological and emotional torture I’m subjected to. 〞

〝 I’ll never experience a breath of fresh air from this madness. I yearn to feel peace once again…but that’s wishful thinking for something that’s essentially impossible. 〞

〝 Maybe someday I’ll slip to a place where sorrow burns no more. As of now, I cater to the madness without much choice. 〞

〝 No need to apologize. I’m thankful you’re not placed in the position that was bestowed upon me through vengeance, hate, and pain. 〞

〝 The dead don’t sleep, I’m afraid. 〞

〝 Hello. 〞

He remembers a room carved from stone, slick with mossy dreams that came off on his fingers to make him wretch from fumes of slow-cooked hope.

Alone this tortured vessel sits, in a room blessed only by candlelight If only the shadows could talk…