Tag Archives: drawing


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.


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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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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Filed under Poetry

heaven has hazards, too.

I am my own parasite
I don’t need a host to live
We feed off of each other
We can share our endorphins
Doll steak, test meat…



the protests

rise like bile

and anarchy

from the back

of a shut throat

shut by rope

shut by force

shut the hell up

angels like you

don’t have wings

but holy tongues

no, it’s not the same

acidic prayers

could only burn

if you believe

and we don’t

believe me, i tried

but i can’t listen

to your whining

curdled preaching

spines unreeling

catching the bait

with faith and

worms, it doesn’t

matter; they all

taste the same

when all you eat

is your own words

spoiled aphorism

colourless lies

promising cheap

doses of paradise

fools betraying fools

the duality of man

bleeding out on

concrete praises

to coat the streets

with a fresh kind

of damnation

to slip on and fall

broken ankles

lead the line back

to recycled agony

playing pretend

that we’re all

something more

than god’s little nothing

blacked-out cursing

never quite trying

mesmerising, again

this enervation.


Look on the bright side is suicide
Lost eyesight, I’m on your side
Angel left wing, right wing, broken wing
Lack of iron and/or sleeping…

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darkrooms and diadems







playing in

the corner

of a bad call



and ashes

woven into

a blonde king


hopeful yet


no mercy for

the dying


we’ll fly but

i’ll collide

with nothing

but comets


galaxies hush

still at your

voice, another

skyline death



so clever, yet

barely out

of my reach


no need for

your gold when

you’re the one

that i need.

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An Addict’s Automatic Love Letter

I’m in love with someone who’s hurting me killing me agonisingly slowly turning every word from my mouth into congealed blood and stale chewed gum and I can’t speak or breathe or eat anymore and it’s so heavy everything’s so heavy it’s like my bones are carved out of crude limestone but my brain is built of cheap plastic and it just refuses to work there’s a dogeared faded polaroid picture of you hidden somewhere in that fragile container and save for your radiant smiling face and soft baby blues it’s astonishingly empty no wonder that’s how I feel most days now most days it’s just the taste of your exquisite name lingering on my bruised lips though we never even kissed and some kind of sick distraction that never lasts long enough to send me back into the past to heal my scars if I didn’t run away from you like a complete coward back then would I be bravely holding your hand now? There’s really nothing much to do but sit around and contemplate and silently cope and stare at the bedroom walls bleached with dry rot and knuckle marks and try to ignore the creeping blood drawing underlines all over your wrists it’s about to burst oh god everything’s about to fucking explode into the most beautiful most violent most decadent shade of red———no. The carnage speaks for itself but I never once touched you no I wouldn’t dare taint your artful acrylic heart with my filthy damaged corrupted skin please you’re so perpetually pretty and I’m just the mess you made and you didn’t even know no you’ll never even know I don’t know why that pains me the most when it should be all for the best and you should be happy you deserve that much and more and I love you my darling yes I do you’re worth more than all the black holes and stardust in the universe and I’ll never adore and cherish anyone more than you but it’s sad to say you’ll always be hurting me killing me choking my words from a million miles and oceans away a million times over until drowning becomes just another bad habit and my obsessive lungs are filled with taffy and saltwater and it’s weighing my tongue down I can’t speak anymore though I have too much to say to you but you’ll never hear me out so I guess I should save myself for hell and dream of you just one last time to see if the thrill of the chase lasts longer than the capturing kill (I’m certain it wouldn’t, but the stupid things I would do for you in an arrested heartbeat could stop my twitching pulse) and finally shut up.

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Filed under Prose

northern downpour sends its love

morning storms

and opened windows

forgotten dreams

hanging by the seams

drowsy downpour

escaped stranger’s laugh

thoughts too wired

a quaint book read to tire.

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Filed under Poetry


you are mania

and sad playlists

and pencil-sketched lips


you are sweetness

and cold headaches

and portraits, unfinished.

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Filed under Poetry

An End-of-the-Sem Rant (+some dumb art)

Happy start of June, everyone. And happy summer holidays (or the end of it, to some), as well. It’s been a while.

So. I made it home somehow. And to no one’s surprise, I have to drop out from college (whether temporarily or permanently, it’s still undecided) thanks to failing grades, so I guess I’ll be stuck here a while. I’m honestly just relieved to get this whole stressful weight out of my chest now, and mostly thankful that my entire family hasn’t totally disowned me and scissor-kicked my pathetic ass straight onto the kerb, leaving me to die alone, destitute, and homeless. But assuming the role of the classic family disappointment living in their parents’ basement aside, I still have to do something productive. Maybe find a crappy job to toil on for the rest of my useless life. Maybe go back to college after a bit of rest and then suffer extensively to the verge of suicide again. Maybe find some other calling or whatever the hell that means. People are lowkey pushing me to take DIA or some writing internship or shit like that, but I really don’t think my heart would be in it, and it would also just mean more unnecessary expenses that would be wasted, should I inevitably fuck up again. So now…I don’t know yet. I know for sure what I really want to do with myself, but just the details of that plan are so insanely fuzzy and the end goal is far from attainable. Ah, hell. C’est la vie. I could always just throw myself directly into oncoming highway traffic and either die or sue if nothing else works, save everyone the time and trouble.

In other less-depressing news, I’ve been focusing so much work and energy into drawing and arts—and the occasional ear training, scales/modes practice and music theory studies, which I admittedly have been kinda slacking on—that I never really realised until now that I haven’t quite paid attention to writing as much these days. Not that I’m worried about completely slipping out of the habit of it, though. I just find it a bit strange and disconcerting for my hands to not be itching for a pen and my journal all the time. Writing is always going to be the main core of my hobbies, since it’s the one that comes most naturally to me, but I gotta take a break every once in a while, y’know? After thousands upon thousands of various write-ups both finished and unfinished, maybe I’m just a teeny bit burnt-out—wow, who would’ve thunk? I’ll probably get back to it soon anyway, since I really have nothing else to do nowadays but lie in my dusty bed and get deep-fried by the severe goddamned heat wow global warming is real you guys

Anyway, here are a few trash illustrations and whatnot that I’ve worked on the past couple months. Might as well share it here, since they’re just sitting in my sketchbooks and rotting away miserably otherwise. As for a demo music-wise, well…I’ll see if I can gather up enough courage and motivation to record myself and actually put up stuff of that calibre. Nah, jk. I won’t subject whoever’s stumbling across my blog to my shitty voice and sappy lyric-writing and subpar instrument playing. This ain’t the time and place for that. Y’all just gonna have to wait for my full-length fire asf album to drop coming out 2069 eyyyy hahahaH end me please :)))

But that’s about as exciting as my life gets, really. And I have more fitful and unknown days way ahead of me. I mean for god’s sake, I’m barely a week into this holiday and my life’s already collapsed back into a deathless rot, and I’ve also got an ongoing migraine that’s festering worse than a twenty øne piløts song. Let’s see what kind of other mindless indulgence and flagrant existential crises this round of the year brings.

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Filed under Prose

i n t e r l u d e

–Lin-Manuel Miranda


Filed under Other stuff, Poetry


The promise of control.

It screams and sighs and starves me,

it makes me feel so empty.

But the hollowness,

the hopelessness,

the hunger,

it makes me feel so fucking fulfilled.

The promise of control.

The promise of hopeful tomorrows.

The promise of getting better…

But no.

Not when I’m sick.

Not when I lie to myself.

Not when I’m tired of having to give up all over again.

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Filed under Poetry