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incorrectdevildom: Mammon: So hypothetically, if I were to get a dog…Lucifer: Mammon, you are not bringing a dog into the House of Lamentation.MC: So hypothetically, if Mammon lost a dog in the House of Lamentation 20 minutes ago……
laments-and-burlesque: Deafening my thoughtsMurdered by distractionThe sliver of light progressively dimmingI lose my way in the labyrinth, no up and no down No sideways or backwardsThere’s only her
Lamentations over the Death of the First-Born of Egypt, 1877 (detail) Charles Sprague Pearce.
laments-x-burlesque: It was there again…That ravishing and unbearable needThat fever inside that tears up my monotonyThat thundering quietness that shatters my peaceHungering to sully your piety and virtueThis delirium has enchanted me once moreMy
lament-for-the-past: Simply beautiful.
lament-for-the-past: Stacked and ready to be read.
lament-for-the-past: What a parcel.
lament-for-the-past: A moment to read.
lament-for-the-past: Ah good sir, going out?
lament-for-the-past: Gentlemen out riding.
lament-for-the-past: There is always time to read. Boże, te książki wyglądają kompletnie jak z biblioteki mojego instytutu.
lament-for-the-past: A glance from behind.
lament-for-the-past: And there is always time to gossip.
lament-for-the-past: With lips like delicate rose petals.
lament-for-the-past: At dusk.
lament-for-the-past: How swiftly is sets.
lament-for-the-past: The moon and a rock.
lament-for-the-past: Foggy foggy London.
lament-for-the-past: A simple tune
lament-for-the-past: A shadow
lament-for-the-past: Oh you sir, are fabulous. Proszę pana, jest pan moim ideałem. Czy zechce pan podać mi wachlarz?
lament-for-the-past: Deep thoughts.
lament-for-the-past: Long corridors
lament-for-the-past: One down.
lament-for-the-past: A small smile
lament-for-the-past: Sweet Romeo, we all know how thee glanceth at thy Juliet’s bossom.
lament-for-the-past: A library is never complete
lament-for-the-past: Coco Chanel.
lament-for-the-past: Gentleman of the enlightenment.
lament-for-the-past: vines..
lament-for-the-past: Walls are cold
lament-for-the-past: Tie
lament-for-the-past: Books, so many books!
lament-for-the-past: Yet more books.
lament-for-the-past: Beauty has no limits.
lament-for-the-past: Do incline your head and smile.
lament-for-the-past: Masked.
lament-for-the-past: Masked
lament-for-the-past: A study of my dreams.
lament-for-the-past: Stacked.
lament-for-the-past: An open book is the best kind of book.
lament-for-the-past: Reading alone. - Credit to passionatebrains
lament-for-nimrodel: “Stop laughing, Dwalin. It’s not funny.”Fili and Kili found a bottle of ink while Thorin was sleeping. Dwalin thinks the result is hilarious.
Lamenting Kiss
laments-x-burlesque: She could be her own worst enemy. Stressing herself out at work. Sick with worry for everyone else. That was her nature. And she wasn’t going to change. But there was a way to quiet her thoughts and give her a fighting chance to
laments-x-burlesque: DeprivationI have stolen your sight. Your green eyes, those viridescent jewels that seem to live in the back of my mind at all times, are sadly—just for one night—concealed from my gaze.You know you’re being observed by her;
Lamentable pero necesario
lamenting-icarus-blog: The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, Toledo, OH, 2013
lamenting-icarus-blog: The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, Toledo, OH 2013
Laments of a ghost
laments-x-burlesque: I’m desolate, a veil of ennuiThen my eyes beheld her… ineffably with a ritual songThe felicity about her eyesI long to gaze in them like this every dayEpitomizing an ethereal grandeur neither of us can explain
laments-x-burlesque: Beautiful traps, delicate and hostile Threading a dangerous laceA flawless flow to the finest angleAcross the nadir, shapes and forms are waxing lyricalSpinning ceaselessly, I needn’t imprison you…You gave yourself
lament-for-the-past: Candlelight.
laments-x-burlesque:Whispering brazenly in your ear all nightThe nearest park… The nearest patch of grass in the dark Maybe a train will thunder past when you cum
laments-x-burlesque: Hands wander to warm placesEyes closed, an innocent strokeResponding to my rhythm, my song, my mix-tape My hushed directions leave her wanton“Can I burst now?” she asksI grant the dispensationBreathless bliss, curling toes She’s
Lament for Icarus, Draper (1898)
Lamentable que una persona diga: "¿En estos tiempos, quién escribe bien?"
laments-x-burlesque: All she wants is someone to make her soul spill outLike an inkwell knocked from the writing deskBehind the plaid-skirt tousles and eyelash fluttersBehind every hair-flip…There’s a smaller “her”And she’ll never tell you
