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devil's whisper | my heart @sseraphveil

Joined June 2025
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my heart has its own unique color, sound and texture. it is woven from frosty silence
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this autumn smells of gloom and isolation
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The Ghost (1898) by Josef Mandl
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you are like an angel; nothing can touch you. or like an evil spirit: everyone fears it, yet no one has seen it. and if anyone has, they are either lying or already driven mad.
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͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏take my blood
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e quando o kafka disse apenas quando estou profundamente melancólico é que tenho a sensação de que sou eu mesmo
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no sin – no repentance
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melancholy has its own beauty solitude has its own peace
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† †
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everything i touch turns to ice. living with black-and-white thinking, i didn't notice how the world truly faded into shades of gray, leaving nothing bright in my eyes and stealing the joy from everything colorful
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the link between religious trauma and finding comfort and warmth in the horror genre
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Fotografías de Auguste-Jean Boyer d'Agen en un convento de carmelitas francés c. 1900.
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for as long as i exist, i'll be a rotten soul. i'll be the person people regret meeting. i'll be the sin, and i'll be the punishment
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once enough irritation accumulates, it will burst out in a destructive way that is impossible to predict. some things are simply beyond control
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never beating the off-putting allegations
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the horror sets in when i start feeling uncomfortable anywhere. at home, with loved ones, in my own clothes, at the shop, visiting people, while studying. being myself feels bad, and it feels bad everywhere. i want to escape, but i don't know where to
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the empty corridor of my fallen soul
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