|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.
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