Venetian Red
Storyteller, passionate chronicler of the macabre, lover of the undead and the erotic. Find my mind-boggling stories and poems of the occult at
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What doesn’t kill me should run, because now I’m fucking pissed.
To sit on rocks, to muse o’er flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forest’s shady scene,
Where things that own not man’s dominion dwell,
And mortal foot hath ne’er or rarely been;
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen,
With the wild flock that never needs a fold;
Alone o’er steeps and foaming falls to lean;
This is not solitude, ’tis but to hold
Converse with nature’s charms,
And view her stores unrolled.
Lord Byron (via itsquoted)

Tormented . ‘60 . IMDb

Photograph by:  Kritiana
You do. You know everything. That’s the trouble. You know you do.

Photo Manipulation by:  Manuel de los Galanes