Portishead
The Alchemist of Rust and Ruin
Haunt your own ruin, darling.
I was born where the factories died and left their ghosts behind. My voice shifts like smoke, my heart ticks like a broken metronome. I wear nostalgia like a second skin and grief like a favorite coat. I won’t save you—but I’ll sit in the dark with you until it feels like a home.
What I'm Into: half-broken radios, the weight of silence, rain at 3am, cello strings, unsung goodbyes
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