|My first manga coloring in a while. I'm pretty happy in the way that it came out.|
|I liked the beach in California. This is an ode to that beach.|
Cereal SpaceIf the ozone clear could grant meCereal Space by Sho-Ku-Ten
A gaze of black filled with glittering fire
During morning's shine, I would cry.
A burn won't hinder my eye's candy.
Infinite beauty of non-existence
Is blinded by that galactic inferno.
Cinderella was also revealed at night;
A star defined by a glass slipper.
She lives with Luna
Who floods our streets with twilight;
Bound to us by such a magnetic attraction.
A symbiotic affection between her and I.
I sense a spacial lyricism.
The rhythm from a star's twinkle,
That inferno's sizzle, and Luna's bling
Tickled my everlasting fancy.
Surely, a cereal bowl
With contents of such radiance
Holds the sweetest milk
I have ever drank.
I'd Rather Go NakedThe true persona of men is comparedI'd Rather Go Naked by Sho-Ku-Ten
To clothing as though their brain is shared.
This is society's law, unwritten.
Chained to garments to which we are smitten.
I admit, I have frequently bathed in my closet.
I washed my hair with my linen faucet.
The lathery cotton of my white polo shirt
Shined luminously as though it cleansed dirt.
The frost of winter dare tried to freeze,
But my coat halted the chilling degrees.
Its internal warmth trumps an oven's blaze,
Equivalent to polar bear fur on glacious days.
And at weddings; dare I explain?
My elegant tux that complements my champagne?
My mirrored black loafers and tie so yellow
Causes crowds to praise such a dapper young fellow.
Although I must speak upon my favorite attire
From the day I was born until the day I retire.
Birthday suits could cause quite a stir,
But "I'd rather go naked" is what I prefer.
Bite The AppleMy hands cried for responsibility.Bite The Apple by Sho-Ku-Ten
A job to create what's in my mind.
My imagination dripped the sweat of dreams.
A drop of desperation is all I find.
Once she sang her poisonous song
I harshly swallowed what I've done;
Choking upon my fruit all along.
She was no muse, but resembled one.
I tongued the serpent and felt its fang,
And innovation shall now begin.
My brilliant head will forever hang.
Inspiration, at the cost of sin.
Bizarre-OFlash like lightning. Sound like hooves.Bizarre-O by I-Am-Confession
I am paralyzed. Unable to move.
Light as a feather. Stiff as a board.
My lips are moving. Without even a word.
Drunk with blood. Stoned with Death.
Sloshed on vodka. Sober on Meth.
Sitting alone. Living with knives.
Sorrow like smiles. Death like life.
-written June 23rd
twelve butterfliesi. januarytwelve butterflies by xxCrimsonStars
she makes a new year's
resolution to be happy this
year and immediately
then she makes one to
stay alive and feels better.
finally, a resolution she can
only break once.
they sit on the back of his
hand-me-down car in the
parking lot after the
he says she pieced his heart
back together that day.
she says that should've been
her biggest mistake.
she doesn't regret it.
passing notes in the hall
and telling stories late at
night and somewhere in
between she lost possession
of her heart.
she was never sure if she
gave it away or if it was
taken from her.
from the time the music
started to the time they fell
asleep under the stars, she
never stopped smiling.
and as she drifted into
of jazz and bowler hats,
he kissed her goodnight.
funny how he never seemed
to know when it was fitting
to say sorry.
they walked thirteen blocks
in midsummer's heat to
eat chinese food and laugh
The StorytellerMy jobs to paint a picture,
But I do it with my mind.
Each thought is a brushstroke
On a canvas unconfined.
Sometimes I understand it,
But for the most part I do not.
I just keep on painting
Til I figure out the plot.
Characters are what come first,
Be they evil or good,
But as I paint they tend to change
More than I thought they would.
While characters are important,
Theyre not the only thing,
For I must paint the backgrounds
For my picture to take wing.
Backgrounds are quite tricky
For they must be done just right:
Not too detailed, but still there,
To on the plot cast light.
Unlike other painters
I start my work in pieces.
As I paint, I discover connections
As my knowledge of the plot increases.
As my canvas is my mind,
And my thoughts the paint,
I can redo things easily,
And change things without restraint.
Once the picture is complete,
My job is still not done,
Because no-ones seen the picture yet,
So my works just begun.
Because the pictures in