Venice

And at the Hour of Our DeathThe scent of worn leather and stale smoke pervaded the room, almost seeming to condense into a dark haze about broken bottles and cigarettes butts scattered across the dingy stained carpet. He picked his way around piles of unwashed clothes and empty Chinese food cartons, wondering and vaguely hoping that roaches wouldnt scurry out of the dwellings many hidden corners. Weak late-afternoon sunlight filtered into the room between the spaces in the blinds of the single narrow window, the suns rays illuminating floating specks of dust which seemed to make up the air itself. Under the window was a bed, still unmade as though itsAnd at the Hour of Our Death
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and sometimes,
you need to be lost
in order to be found
haha. how are you!
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maybe it's sweet here after.
HAHAHA. You never told me you had a devart. >
Hi.
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Inspired by too many things at the same time.
BTW, I am in love with your icons!
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"I love to drown waffles in maple syrup and then smothering them in butter... I'm like... A waffle's worst nightmare..."
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xoxo
Popsicles should be the new black, that way everyone would have one!
frank iero :]
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IT'S ALL ABOUT PERSPECTIVES.
photography: my life, my love, my obsession.
find me on flickr: [link]
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Commissions:OPEN
Trades:OPEN
Request:OPEN
Sales:OPEN
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