.they all say,it's a good thingyou fell farfrom that treeand i can'ttake another bite;the pips insidestart screaming(spit spit spit)
.in a poemeverything comesto life, so i writeabout you, i writeabout you, and iam still keepingus alive(light the path then, lantern eyes, if you know the fucking way out of here)
.i rememberedthe conversation with the anesthetist,he said place your thumbs over your eyesand press gently, and i replied isn't thatlizards?and no i can't feel my hands but i'mnot really bothered, i will sleepsleep and sleep, i won't need them,and please keep an eye on the sea til iwake, it might pack up its fish andgo travelling, it might leak throughthe holes in the earth like a sieve,all the shipwrecks and sharks willbe homeless(i don't believe in anything, and that makes me a liar because i believe in that)
.i will marry the moonand adopt a son, teachhim not to play with thehearts of stars(but he will)i will bring home a man,give him hope, hear himoutand then coughup his gutson the floor(i will end up there anyway, might as well say a prayer whilst i'm down there)
.mother i'msorryand brotheri worry aboutyouhe's deadbut still livinginside me iknew thisfresh startwould havethe samerottenending(gonna build you up nice and bitter)
.there are some things i've seen and heard that reallyget to me sometimes, like those birds and mice with teeth markson their little red raw thighs,rotting flowers, i recall he said this is a waste of timeand you're a waste of space, it's just impossible to holda conversation with you these days,let it go, just fucking drop it,keep your mouth shut unless i sayi think i froze to death last night, my fingertips turned blue,i heard a cloud say fuck you boy, did i come all this way for youto say that i look like a rabbit,better places i could bei've seen my shadow put two fingers to her headand pull the trigger, heard my echo laughabout it with the walls, and every timei hold a match i hear itwhispering to me,if you don't want me to burn you,then you're gonna have to blow meouti heard that you can't tame a lion just by pullingat his mane, i heard that blood feels goodon porcelain and not just i
.i laid in the flowers andi listened to them hum,i think i loved your handsthe most, even when theyflayed me to the boneand i don't think i'msupposed to talk about -the devil, he said i'velived one hell of a life,you see, just read myname out backwards,and god ain't nothingbut a dog, so don't youeven go wasting your time(i left my conscience pining outside the door)
.confess;let thosesquirmingthingsinside youhatchand falloff thetongue(i'd rather walk myself home, bare feet cold on pavement)
.there is a bodybloodless and pale,with dirty handstrying to wash it alloff, because if shecannot see it there'sa chance it won'texistso she buriedthe blood in themud with her babyteeth, asked theriver to take itaway, felt her bonesheave a sigh as shelay them all downon the banklet itallslip away(and no doubt he will say she was crazy, this bitch, with her tongue and her teeth and her mind)
.and goddess,this isn't something i cansweat or starve out of me,i'll have to write and it willbe madness,see i've often thought aboutplacing my head in the pestleand mortar, i wonder if i couldgrind out the hell inside, becomea red pulp on the worktop, andeven the oven keeps tutting at me,it's so easy, just open the doorstick your hand in, feel his forkedtongue on your palm,orange lover, youknow you'rea cowardfor thisand it's truethat the dead are never reallysilent, they grunt and they groanin their damp soil sheets,toss and turn overagain(fill the bath with water, and just drop me in it)
.my thoughts want toflee, but there is no fireescape, no guide to theexit of my head, and theyconsider digging a holethere, i feel it, maybe acrack just wide enoughto crawl through, drop arope through the backof my neck and climbdown, prise open theearth - a tremble turnsinto an avalanche, anda snowflake in the flurrywonders am i the same asall the rest? he coughs andsplutters and chokes onit - i wake in the earlymorning, heart lodgedin my throat, that redbird in that chimney, he'sgoing to starve there andi'll be spitting feathers;i won't claw the insideof my neck again fornobody, i'm past that,pick me up by thescruff and drop mewherever you're going -but wait, when lightningstrikes a tree, well isn'tthat love? and when therain pelts the ground,well what about then?when you miss the acheof wounds as they'rehealing, is that it? wellwhen your nose bleeds,that's still love right?cos i've got an entirepack to get through -and what a funnything it is
.if thesewalls couldtalkthen i'm surethey'd bescreamingget out,burn usdown,we can'tbearto hold youanylonger(been too busy dreaming to get any sleep)
.i can almost hearthe soundof everything -foxesweepingon the bodiesof rabbits, idid not meanto, i did notmean -howling andhowling,the deer inthe headlights sayingi told you so(and do you hear that? that's the sound of it all caving in)
.i don't believethat if you can dream ityou can do it,cos i once dreamt thati killed atlas,i tore him limb from limb and theni stabbed the globe he held,watched itdeflate,and sometimes i get sadabout the children in the worldwho will choke on all the wordsthat they'll never learn to speak,and there's a baby somewhere garglingthe meaning of his life,and he's a little bit upset that youkeep wiping itaway(i have no words for you)
.and god-i saw the moonleaking into the sea,a great big silvery slickon the wavesand as i held my hands upto the hole in her side,she smiled and soakedinto me(gentle, gentle, she doesn't have long)
.lies can slipthrough your teethwith ease,the truthgets caught inyour throat(i wish it was a lie, that i'm your flesh and blood and i wish it was the truth, that i hadn't been drinking)
.i dug up thepast again, thosememories viciousand snarlingi set them looseinside the houseand now we haveto leave
.my bedroomsuffocates me,so sometimes i climbout the window andcurl up on theroofinstead,there used to be a treedown the side that kept hisarms open for mebut he said i don't thinkyou're ever gonna knowhow it feels to bemidasor medusa,you know you'vealready got a heartof gold and eyesof stonei said nowyoudon't getto touch me(i can drop down into the alley from here, or sit with the cat like a gargoyle)
disorder"mirror, mirror, on the wallwho's the fairest of them all?"i whispered to my doleful reflection,but this was no fairy tale:this was a small town on a cold, foggy night.my skeleton was so beautifuli wanted to showcase it,give onlookers a glimpse of my impendingdeath through my very flesh.i could picture myself, edges carved awaylike a cored apple.i just wanted to feel real.everyone around me chewed and swallowed so easilybut i just gnawed on my lip until itasted blood, and leta piece of myself die.the flavor made my mouth wateras my stomach ground out hoarserequests for expansion, for meaning.i held nothing within but pathetic yearning,hollow with self-hatred.i could only feel affection with pain.perfection became my obsession,consuming me alive the way i would haveloved to consume anything at all.some part of me believe i could be a super model,and living my life on ambition and emptinesswas the way to do it.every day i watched the little numberson t
saudade.youwere about as predictableas the quicksilver clockon our kitchen wall.you were a steady drumbeatin the soundtrack of our lifeand i was the bass guitar,keeping timewhen the monotony succeededin sawing away at you,bringing you back from simplicitywith the intricate vibrationsin my nylon strings.you taped pictures, wordson your ceilingand fell asleepstaring at them like starsto the sound of artificial rain.in the morning,you woke up to find themscattered on your warm bodylike flowersand took themas messages from the universe.you were the vanilla scentthat wafted through the houseon wintry days,subtly thereand sending me on edgewith content.i was the cold.i kept youfrom melting at the seams,burning into ash,bursting into flamesand destroying everything in your wakebut i am still nothing morethan the polar oppositeof your essence.i am onlya lack of warmth,and you never wantedthe cold's calculatedand steadyfreeze.
Re-thinking art. Your help will be appreciatedHey friends so I haven't made a journal in awhile... and I've been thinking about a lot of stuff...So I guess i'll just jump into whats eating me.My art for the past year or so has been bothering me, I'm posting stuff that i'm not really proud of and there are always this I notice that kill me about my art style. Because my life has been busy, stressful and kinda shity lately I haven't really had time for art (or at least art I enjoy)<-- and by that I mean that because i'm so stressed and busy when i finally get to draw that I just draw what I'm comfortable with because i'm not enjoying what i'm doing enough to push myself anymore))) One of my best friends was saying that he thinks I should start posting stuff that is outside of my comfort zone and exercise my talent more. So bam. I'm gonna.As an artist I feel like I'm getting more and more stuck with what I'm doing, My friends are all improving around me (which is awesome and I love seeing you guys impro
The Dead SeaThe Dead SeaI offered water to her,but she was a seaI offered love to her,but she was deadI offered words to herand she hated me.
Growing up, Having a TasteIn the opinion of each of you readers here, what do you suppose it takes to be a professional in order to be accepted in the world of job opportunities and working for the big name companies (in the art department)? It has been a thought that has been recycling over and over in my brain for the past week or two about what it comes to when recruitment comes into play; I have been told and listened in on professors in the field that it is about confidence, other times about hints of pride to hand over to the recruiters, though there is no talk of grades. I suppose that, in the end, grades are letters that signify how good you have been at specific subjects but not at what you plan to achieve in or be given acceptance into.Neil Gaiman told us that whatever we wanted to do that there was no plan, but to just do it.Honestly, that is fine. Very well. With hard work, with determination, with opening our minds to new things and learning from those things we can accomplish our greatest
CobwebsThere arepartsof my mindthat aregrowing cobwebs,would you liketo be the oneto dust them off?
WARNING: Paypal ScamHello again!Sorry for spamming but I think I should let you guys know about this~Just a warning, so that you guys are aware of it, although I know this was not the first timeOk, an hour ago I receive an email from 'Paypal' telling me that I have an unfinished transaction~It says to click the 'Log In' button which was in the email as well and told me that they will lock my account if I don't do what they told me~But before I click it... I was thinking and realized that I haven't bought anything online for almost 1-2 weeks...So, what I did is, I still clicked it to make sure what is this email about and it directed me to the site called 'Peypal'I was like... 'what the heck is this?'Of course I didn't log in... since its obvious that it was a fake siteThough, they make it look like the real thingI am glad I checked the URL before logging in... I should have Print Screen the fake email...but once I forward it to the Paypal Team, they told me to delete it immediately~
Work of art.Don't wince at my scars, instead use them to find where I am broken, and put your body against the cracks.Don't let me fall out of myself again, the parts might fit together, but the breaks are never clean.Sometimes I feel like glass in the middle of a war zone, just the sound of goodbye may destroy me.I've picked up the pieces before, cut myself with shards of who I was, carefully pasted them together with who I am, hoping no one would notice.The trouble is the masking tape I used, doesn't seem to mask anymore.The trouble is I leave tiny bits of myself behind me, just so I can be found.The trouble is my heart is made of clay and it might just break with one more fall.Maybe that's the wonder of me, even once i've broken…I can break again.© Rocio Belinda Mendez
Point Commission Info (status: ask me)Please read the commission rules here.Journal dolls (pixels):static (still): 300animated: 50050x50 icons: 200Only one character per journal doll commission. Chibi is half-off. It would help me a lot if you tell me which one of these you want your pixel similar to (in terms of style/coloring).Sketches:uncolored: 50colored: 100Headshots:Flat: 200Shaded: 300No background. One character per commission. Chibi not available.
.unbutton my skinand let me fall out;(a mass of red and blue strings to wind round your fingers)