The sun inflicted unbearable pain on her eyes. For this reason, she lived in this damp and gloomy house, with boarded up windows. Her companions were rats, beetles and moths, flown here in search of light, but lost in the dusty corridors. In the nights of the dark moon, she crept out, groping the gray wooden walls filled with hundreds of rains; the shutters, as if they had been affected by smallpox from the beetles; the steps where the wind was sleeping — her faithful dog… The door grumbled warnings about how inhospitable the world was beyond the threshold of her refuge, but she didn’t listen, she stepping uncertainly on the porch where the spinning wheel stood, twined with threads of the past. Only on these nights could she spin the web of her painful memories. Pulling out bare nerves, anxieties and fears. Now she remembered all the deaths that she had nursed on her hands, she remembered how the voices silenced and the diseases bloomed… She remembered how rotten flesh melted, exposing the moon’s reliefs of bones.
The sun wandered through the hazy forest and painted strange symbols on the dead earth, on a mask that hides the silence of the night and screams of graves, languishing in emptiness. The spirit trapped inside the numb body, like a moth in a box, tossed and broke its wings about unbreakable obstacles. The sculpture of the mourner, doomed to grieve for those whom she had never known, sank in rotten foliage and marble tears. She was dressed in heavy stone clothes and the same weight lay on her soul. The little dead quietly echoed, at the bottom of their nameless graves… And she seemed to see blood appearing on cold hands, like a carmine sunset on a gloomy sky.
Солнце проникало в мглистый лес и рисовало странные символы на помертвелой земле, на маске, скрывающей тишину ночи и вскрики могил, томящихся пустотой. Дух запертый внутри оцепенелого тела, словно мотылек в коробке, метался и ломал крылья о нерушимые преграды. Скульптура плакальщицы, обречённая скорбеть по тем, кого никогда не знала, тонула в гнилой листве и мраморных слезах. она была облачена в тяжёлые каменные одежды и такая же тяжесть лежала у нее на душе. Маленькие мертвецы тихо вторили её плачу, на дне своих безымянных могил… И ей будто бы виделась кровь, выступающая на холодных руках, словно карминный закат на сумрачном небосклоне.
ring of fire join at CatacombFamily.com figure @ffffawns . white garment @blckbts . #darkphotography #catacombs #macabre #gothaesthetic #occult #deathscience (at Ransom, Pennsylvania) https://www.instagram.com/p/CB34PIipo5W/?igshid=a2c6zyg7od7f
Mistaken Construction || ——————————— When I’m photographing I could see just how I will disconnect and construct them with time. What might be definitely new way from reality. Like our life line process, ya? We need to always make choices rather construct or disconnect our life, choices which has always consequences. There’s no need to be radical, necessity is to take care of the balance. . . . . . . . . . . #contemporaryphotography #darkphotography #cubism #photooftheday #bnw #bnwphotography #bnwportrait #portraitphotography #portrait #bnwmood #bnw_drama #drama #photooftheday #portrait_shots #portrait_society #construct #disconnected #life #lifestylephotography #instadaily #dailyphotos #girl #black #white #blackandwhitephotography #doubleexposure #doubleexposures #doubleexposurephotography #doubleexposureportrait https://www.instagram.com/p/Bt5rivYn556/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1owvyopllmi4z