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Description
Heal the scars from off my back
I don't need them anymore
You can throw them out or keep them in your mason jars
I've come home

All my nightmares escaped my head
Bar the door, please don't let them in
You were never supposed to leave
Now my head's splitting at the seams
And I don't know if I can

Here, beneath my lungs, I feel your thumbs press into my skin again

Radical Face - Welcome Home [link]

~squidlarkin [foggy forest] ; ~Sugary-stock [dandelion field] ; ~spiritsighs-stock [dandelion brushes] ; ~midnightstouch [tree branches]

Scrap background that decided to become 'something'.

Model is my own photography
Karolin-Lii @ Living Models
Owl jewelry by LottaDjossou @ Ehteari.ee

This is the story of an absent-minded girl who wanders around in the pale forests with a trembling, fragile heart. Voices whispering in her ears, she sleeps on the heavy rocks, her skin cold against the grey stones and rotten moss.

She braids feathers in her hair, wishing she was a bird. The chirping of their tiny voices never awakes her from this deep, clumsy slumber. The light of the forest is so strange, so ungentle. The smell of autumn lingers in the air, but her mind is still filled with summer. She breathes the scent of cold stones, the complex texture of dark woods, her fingers buried in the soft feathers, wishing they were her wings.

She dreams of owls, smart birds with a delicate brown plumage, watching over her sleep. In her mind is a hurricane and soon her eyes become weak and all the owls take flight. There is a storm of feathers, filled with screeching and howling and the smell of mould becomes stronger and and louder.

A sudden wind will press her against the ground and the aching sound of breaking skin wakes her up. The storm is gone and her mind is a mess. The cold, hunting night is creeping closer, masked with twlight and mist. The way home is long.

Closeup:

Description
Heal the scars from off my back
I don't need them anymore
You can throw them out or keep them in your mason jars
I've come home

All my nightmares escaped my head
Bar the door, please don't let them in
You were never supposed to leave
Now my head's splitting at the seams
And I don't know if I can

Here, beneath my lungs, I feel your thumbs press into my skin again

Radical Face - Welcome Home [link]

~squidlarkin [foggy forest] ; ~Sugary-stock [dandelion field] ; ~spiritsighs-stock [dandelion brushes] ; ~midnightstouch [tree branches]

Scrap background that decided to become 'something'.

Model is my own photography
Karolin-Lii @ Living Models
Owl jewelry by LottaDjossou @ Ehteari.ee

This is the story of an absent-minded girl who wanders around in the pale forests with a trembling, fragile heart. Voices whispering in her ears, she sleeps on the heavy rocks, her skin cold against the grey stones and rotten moss.

She braids feathers in her hair, wishing she was a bird. The chirping of their tiny voices never awakes her from this deep, clumsy slumber. The light of the forest is so strange, so ungentle. The smell of autumn lingers in the air, but her mind is still filled with summer. She breathes the scent of cold stones, the complex texture of dark woods, her fingers buried in the soft feathers, wishing they were her wings.

She dreams of owls, smart birds with a delicate brown plumage, watching over her sleep. In her mind is a hurricane and soon her eyes become weak and all the owls take flight. There is a storm of feathers, filled with screeching and howling and the smell of mould becomes stronger and and louder.

A sudden wind will press her against the ground and the aching sound of breaking skin wakes her up. The storm is gone and her mind is a mess. The cold, hunting night is creeping closer, masked with twlight and mist. The way home is long.

Closeup: