Tag Archives: drawing

vanilla iced coffee (for archer.)

haze of rosy dusk

a quick afternoon nap

dreams about cake

a yawning drowsy cat

.

deeper lilac sprawling

to flood the sky with stars

sketch in colour pencil

now to finish and restart.

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a cold slice of toast (01.03.19)

It’s 2019.

Maybe I could improve on my writing skills

I know I write shitty poetry a dime a dozen

But my dumb fanfictions and short stories

Are still no good to me—no, no good at all

Or perhaps I could do a little better with chord

Changes and strumming and barre chords

On my strawberry-red guitar and ukulele

And buy a violin I’ll probably never use just

To get a laugh out of my poor bleeding ears

Or I could make a hundred more watercolour

Paintings and spend a million quid on buying

Art materials I don’t even know how to use

Just to make a mess out of my dorm room desk

And I didn’t do so well on my first semester

But perhaps it will be better the next time around

In the meantime, I could tire myself out and travel

I could improve my bad ollies, try out new hobbies

Finally get a kickflip in, paint my hair to a rainbow

Stop ignoring my friends like I don’t give a damn

And stop being frustrated with the way I am—

Or I could spend an entire year coming up

With better ways to say “fuck it all, who cares anyway?”

…I think I like that last one a lot.

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Diesis

i revere you

with clenched jaws

grinding bones

scream, scream

.

ulysses defeated

a sisyphean darling

crushed by mere pebble

and then over again

.

arcana uncovered

red eyes and whitecaps

cigarettes after dark

hypanthium reborn

.

or apoplectic laughter

in a shockwave cadenza

and a swindled affair

wet milk and ballet

.

luxuries losing out to

sensationalism and

tabloid embolism, finding

adverts for martyrdom

.

black flies swarming

on the gloom of my

eyelids, lithium to fend

off the vulgar answer

.

saving the worst for last

submerge all the colours

to confess before the lie

here comes the hurricane

.

yes, i revere you with a

ruthless antagonism

but to love you, mon cherie?

i wouldn’t ever dare.

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Not Your Monster

I am not your monster

I’m not the flesh you wish to rend

With your bared fangs

Clawing the sides of my shoulders

As if making me bleed

Profusely would be your salvation

.

I am not your monster

Hidden underneath the floorboards

But you have a shovel

And a knife, and the dirt you dug up

Was crammed into my

Mouth, burying all the words I spoke

.

I am not your monster

Stitched up and painted to look alive

A bride without a heart

Shambling down the aisle in despair

Veil masking the frowns

Picking thorns out of my open palms

.

I am not your monster

A lullaby you use to terrify children

Threatening retribution

From such a wicked, deformed being

Still human; though just

Not enough to invoke empathic pity

.

I am not your monster

The madness you created for yourself

Scars warn to “stay away”

An urban legend for the rest of society

No, I am not your monster

But I fear you might be becoming mine.

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Sensum Cacoëthes

I don’t want your body, but I hate to think about you with somebody else
Our love has gone cold, you’re intertwining your soul with somebody else
I’m looking through you while you’re looking through your phone
And then leaving with somebody else; no, I don’t want your body
But I’m picturing your body with somebody else…

~*~

Your flesh does not impress me

The way it arcs against your bones

Or how soft your face must feel

To be pressed feverishly to my own

I dare not dream of fathoms, nor

Embraces on long nights, lukewarm

My fingertips don’t itch to wander

Searching for quicksand to sink into

.

Show me the inside of your mind

Guide me past its strange labyrinths

What makes it yours, lull me with

Candid words you sing in your sleep

And let me know you beyond you

Beneath skin and blood and starlight

Constellating an ephemeral body

Let me hold you beyond lusted disillusion.

~*~

Get someone you love?
Get someone you need?
Fuck that, get money
I can’t give you my soul
‘Cause we’re never alone…

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likha

anong ipapalit

para sa iyo,

aking likha?

kalikasan sa

aking dibdib, mga

ugat na walang

daloy, pusong

hindi napakikinggan

berdeng kumupas

sa kayumanggi

at napintasan

animo kahel

ang bawat hibla

ng iyong buhok at tila

nababahala, mga

matang napuno

na ng dagat

haranang nawala

alingawngaw na lamang

ang natira

o, kanilang saya!

sa aking kalumbayan

landas na napariwara

sumiklab na ang

kalangitan sa

tila ng hiyas na ulan

wala akong nasalo

bukod sa

karamdaman na

aking naipilit

para lamang sa iyo,

aking likha

what will be sacrificed

for you,

my creation?

nature in my

chest,

veins without

cascade, a heart

falling on deaf ears

veridian fading out

to brown

and affronted

akin oranges,

each single strand

of your hair and perhaps

worrying, those

eyes filled up with

the ocean

a lost serenade

only echoes

remain

oh, their jubilance!

at my melancholy

a fate straying away

the skies have

conflagrated with

the slowing of

the crystalline rain

and i have caught nothing

except for

a fever that i

have forced upon

only for you,

my creation

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Synapses

My head’s like loopy strings and rubber bands, I try my best to keep it running smoothly but it tangles and snaps and that kinda gives me a migraine something awful, so I just stick pins and needles in my scalp and hope it will at least sew up a nice little embroidery for my dreams to enjoy tonight, or maybe pluck me a song I haven’t heard though these stretchy things aren’t really made for music but still, that would be quite nice now, wouldn’t it?

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Shades of You

Grey, that’s all there is now.

I used to be the brightest iteration of alizarin crimson, and I wore my lustrous colours proudly on my chest to disguise the bloody cancer secretly tearing irreparable holes inside my slowly-withering system. So bold and reckless I was, that soon I found myself losing full control and suddenly careening headfirst onto your blue brick wall, and well…the collision was more violent, more radiant, more spectacular than you and I and anyone else could ever begin to imagine. No freshest shade of unhealing bruise nor deepest sour of aged wine could ever compare to the stunning explosion of blinding indigo we left on the scene of the accident, that day. The perfect way your incandescent glows and mine contrasted together and exquisitely showered the atmosphere, it was rather exhilarating.

But like everything that’s been left out under the sun just a little too long, the vibrant hues we initially adored and reverently shared started to quietly fade; akin to a rampant disease viciously working its way past our frail bodies, fingertips first. We could do naught but weep dull stardust as we held ourselves together in the tightest embrace, in the desperate yet ultimately futile hopes that we could still preserve our deteriorating youth—that if we hid away well enough, we could keep even just a sliver, even just a sleepless teardrop, of the resplendent spectrum we once thought we would carry along with the siren songs of this universe forever.

But in the end, it was all for nothing.

Soon enough, you had strangely turned into a serpentine shade of lucid green, and my hazy eyes began to see nothing else but charcoal wastelands and bleeding ash. Oh, how we’ve both drastically changed. And maybe not quite for the better. Still, I don’t wish to stain your newfound emerald gleam with my obscene tenebrescence, so as much as it caused a solemn ache to my soulful bones, I decided to completely detach myself and stay away from you for the time being. Instead, I’ll simply attempt to completely capture your eternal likeness onto pure cotton canvas—resolutely translating all of those clashing galaxies and kaleidoscopic tones into softer stencils and lifeless monochrome.

Perhaps someday, if I blink the awaiting future away and press on my eyelids hard enough, it might conjure back even a stray phantom of the forgotten iridescence that your dull, graphite-sketched countenance used to boast; gentle pastels warmly seeping in and bringing back the dusky ochre in your hair, the cloudless afternoon horizons back in your irises, perhaps even reviving the blushing cosmos of your clever lips, boyish and lazily smug as it twists into an elegant sunflower smile. The worst kind. The kind I somehow find myself missing the most these days.

But for now, grey is the only undertone I unfortunately possess. And it’s the only way I could captivate your ephemeral memory to return home within my gossamer dreams night after night after night, until my tiring lungs finally let go of my last saved breath and I inevitably coalesce into a sepulchral heaven—a bleak, distorted paradise where I’ll be doomed to roam with fellow spirits of black and white, for deathless infinities to come.

And after then, after then…who will be left to remember your name?

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Mirage

Alright. Alright.

Let’s keep it simple. Let’s dissolve the convoluted hyperboles with a dose of sedating fentanyl and simply look the problem straight in its eyes.

Blue.

Not just pastel or skylight or marine or brilliant or midnight or cobalt or baby blue, no. But the kind of blue that makes any other shade of blue look lifelessly grey. The kind of blue you left me with watery gazes and sinkholes, when you left your thoughts to fester unstoppably in mine. The very kind of blue I never thought I’d hate to love.

Until now.

Sometimes, it faintly tastes of the tranquil oceanic breeze, and I could rest easy by the lonely bayside as I let my wandering thoughts ponder cautiously. Tiptoes clumsily traipsing against curious hope and lukewarm sand, fallen horizons blushing a pallid sunset orange, caught smiling unaware whenever I chance upon the nuanced way you adored every delicate brushstroke on the canvas I painstakingly laid out for you; an artist cursed to draw the same portrait forever.

Sweet. Bitter. Nothing.

Sometimes, it’s destructive blizzards all at once; mental violence haphazardly spitting ammunition directly into my targeted chest, turning me into a tattered tapestry of miserable fury—barely fit to be called human. My mind wails and shrieks as it rakes its bladed nails down my spine, coming undone at the uncontrollable paranoia that the very same paintings which brought your attention to my existence would now cause you to draw loathing deep into my skin; an artist blessed to despise their own creations forever.

Tantrums. Bloody. Everything.

My convictions are constantly wavering, my tessellated identity shattering into stagnant fractals if I even so much shed a sliver of you off of my armour, and the overgrown thorns that once quietly infected my lungs sting a whole lot worse when I try to pull them out. So I lie between my gritted chemical teeth and pretend it’s for the best, but no amount of feigned reassurance will ever quell the tormented pangs writhing inside of me, wrenching badly-stitched arteries apart again and crushing my fragile bones to silver dust. Irreparable.

Useless. Helpless. Hopeless.

And still, that blue—god, that damned kind of blue—so vividly engraved behind my closed eyelids like a restless epitaph. Keeping me wide awake and screaming silently in the cramped jail cell I call my home as it softly lulls me off into perpetual sleep. Far away from the echoes of the observable universe, and everyone else, and nothing else. Your inimitable shade of blue.

The kind I hate I love.

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Filed under Prose

heatseeker

heatseeker

form the flames

with your tongue

ashes to ashes

guns to guns

.

feel the wick

running down

fractured spines

gentle warmth

barely noticeable

.

all before the

final sound

of phosphate

crashing against

rougher edges

.

forms second

thoughts, the thrill

of reckless light

find your waxen lover

and i g n i t e

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