Shrouding all the ground around me.
Is this the holy crow above me? Black as holes within a memory and blue as our new second sun. I stick my hand into his shadow to pull the pieces from the sand. Which I attempt to reassemble to see just who I might have been. I do not recognize the vessel, but the eyes seem so familiar.
  • Personal
    •
  • Archive
    •
  • Random
    •
  • Theme
    •
256

Posted on Sunday.

Reblog
31cherries: bellezadelcaos: Selknam Los onas eran tan bacanes, tan alternativos, eran los hipster de su época.
210

Posted on Sunday.

Reblog
1687

Posted on Sunday.

Reblog
356

Posted on Saturday.

Reblog
210

Posted on Friday.

Reblog
78

Posted on Friday.

Reblog
593

Posted on Thursday.

Reblog
260

Posted on Thursday.

Reblog
transylvanianmisanthropy: ©Ivan Solyaev

(Source: piksoo)

Posted on Sunday, 20 May with 3,556 notes.
700

Posted on Friday.

Reblog