inked work

you were the magician’s favorite trick. drunk off
another stormy sky. those fireside lullabies.
just another flightless bird with tattered wings.
always sharing a bed with ghosts. feet blistered
from walking the razor’s edge. another day with
a bleeding tongue. voice forced under the knife.
keep unraveling the twine until you’ve got a
noose. watch them call it a fashion statement.
choking is trendy when done just right.
coughing up enough water to make atlantis
above sea level. spitting out your namesake.
stare in the mirror, repeat your name, forget
who you are. who am i. who’s drowning in all
that cerulean. voodoo heart. pinprick where his
name was. dig it out. stitch it back up. still bleed
out anyway. bones heavier than gold. always too
heavy. shoulders shattered where the wings were
ripped out. the hummingbird in your stomach is
getting too big, it’s ready to fly. the nest is stifling.

you’ve spent the last year on your knees, i don’t
know how you missed it when the sky finally split
open.
—  A FUNERAL FOR THE BLUE GIRL, angelea l.
When it's scone

I keep eating my cereal because I can’t enough of the hot mess that lives in my brain, as if I haven’t enough on my plate.

I let a spoon drop, into the new slop I have in front on me, left to get ugly and eaten up. Beaten love, sunny side up.

The cups half empty conspired with me, they said the key to heavy lifting is leverage and they key happiness is filling up the beverage.

The key to a better bridge are the gaps strung high on me, with my extra light diet dreams. Quiets bleeds unhappiness.

Quiet bleeding candid ashes, in a box glancing matches.

Lock, stock and nicotine smoking patches.

I feel I’m lacking focus to post frequently, probably cause I’ve been sidetracked - whether it is the Steam sale and my urge to buy games I probably won’t have time to play; figuring out my self publishing project, and then realizing a day has gone by and I only accomplished a ton of planning and forgot to draw; my frequent craving for curry and spicy food, therefore spending more time than I should in the kitchen preparing the yummy bits; feeling sleepy and all snug because of the food; a car crash I got into last weekend. Neverthless here are the last panels of this nearly finished comic. Does anyone still send love letters nowadays or have they been replaced for good with snaps in social media? 

             i’ll say it again: L is for love and O is for ‘oh, yes, i do’. V is for virtue so i ain’t gonna hurt you and E is for even if you want me to. R is for render unto me, baby, and M is for that which is mine. A is for any old how, darlin’, and N is for any old time ——

                                                            //: LOVERMAN

But please don’t leave someone wondering what they have done wrong.” he said. “Don’t just walk away and make them feel that they will never be enough. As if they were just some pieces of paper fallen out of your notebook. As if they were just a flower you took out of your vase.” he looked at her. With sadness in his eyes—with pain showing in the way he speaks. Then he continued, “Please. If you can avoid it, just please don’t hurt people that way.
—  ma.c.a // Summer Leaves

I’m not saying he was perfect.  He was far from it in fact, but he was something that I couldn’t resist. We never dated, though at times I wish we would’ve. At the beginning, I wasn’t trying to let him in.  I didn’t want to, but somewhere along the line, I fell for him. Hard.

Then, he left.

Like it was nothing.

Like we were nothing.

Like I was nothing.

I don’t necessarily think I was in love with him, but oh, I could’ve been. I really really could’ve been.

—  Excerpt from a book I’ll never write

Zeus smirks, high and mighty and cutting, and asks, what would you give?

And Atlas - arms trembling and shoulders shaking - thinks: what haven’t I given already?

—  In the end sacrifice means nothing
4

so i had like

just recently watched Cats Don’t Dance for the first time in ages and then I got these asks

but to answer your questions

yeah probably

I wrote and I wrote and I wrote, but all that came out were love poems that made me think of you.
—  thinking of you makes me happy | a.m