Tea Parties At Funeral Parlours

I'm Emily Elizabeth Estrange, I live in a world in my mind, in that big old Victorian manor on that hill at the end of the Lane, that you all know to be haunted. Where it's always Halloween or a stormy night. I live amongst shelves of dusty books, the bats in the attic, the cats in the hall, & the skeletons in the closet. where it's always tea time, the candles glow dim, the wallpaper is peeling, the ghosts whisper in the cellar, the old dolls in the corner stare with their never blinking eyes, & the ancient grandfather clock chimes midnight. there's distant music that you can't find where it's coming from, it's always moving. Cobwebs are never dusted from the odd things in the cabinet. There are a few old graves out back, withered by age. The trees are dead, skeletal branches. I live in this strange place. You'll find me in the parlour. I hope you have a nice visit.

blackpaint20:

son—of-dawn:

Vincent Desiderio, Hitchcock’s Hands, 2012

blackpaint20:

son—of-dawn:

Vincent Desiderio, Hitchcock’s Hands, 2012

(Source: the-cinder-fields, via coffins-and-cupcakes)

tastefullyoffensive:

Smile for the camera! [x]

(via psych-facts)

sevenatonestroke:

thesufferereatsass:

mollymimieux:

Imagine that one day the whole world would look like this.

THE LAST OF US

Wow

(Source: boredpanda.com, via ghostoflalonde)

dark-beauties:

Dark beauty http://dark-beauties.tumblr.com/
skylerbrownart:

Foghouse
by Skyler Brown