On the ebony desk of Harvey L. Clint, business man extraordinaire, sat a sleek, black fountain pen, and wrapped around this pen was a bronze salamander, twisting it’s way around the top half of its length- it denoted class, style, and most importantly, status. Harvey L. Clint had paid a small fortune for his pen, one altogether unique, having been handcrafted overseas. It didn’t matter where overseas- only that it was imported and didn’t have an obnoxious “MADE IN CHINA” stamped on it. It was all about presentation- “It’s all in the way you hold yourself,” he would say. “without that, you’ve got nothing.” Harvey L. Clint, whose middle name was Lee, began to cough.
Loving touch with gentle kiss,
Knife’s edge drawn towards my wrist,
Bleeding out feels so much like love,
An ambrosial gift from heaven above,
Yet angels always seem to reject,
Another selfish soul to dissect,
Leaving me trapped for too many years,
A hopeless fate born of my fears.
This is the product of a three and a bit hour live stream!
Here’s the reference used: http://pikishi.deviantart.com/art/Hands-Reference-261642003
When things are no longer so black and white,
I put a fire under my feet and roll the dice,
Another burning pain and sense of regret,
So why can’t I just learn to forget?
Another day has passed, and coming to an end,
Another work of sorrow passes my lips to send
Idle thorns and prickled scorn straight to a friend.
Apologies though insincere,
Slip past my heart becoming words,
I cannot hear.
Simple days have gone and have come to an end,
Why send love when hate will make a friend?
Amber tides of amnesia crash against gray shores,
Novocaine to an embittered mind yet poison to innocence,
Scorching away misery and pleasant memories,
Leaving only the scars of harder days.
I awoke with a ringing in my ear,
A grating screech that brought me to tears,
My eyes opening like coffin doors,
My blood ran red like ever before,
Yet no function comes to form,
Semblance of life and nothing more.
My heart gave call to scream and shout,
A desire my lungs and mouth snuffed out,
As silent scream rang in my chest,
A cavity in a hollow breast.
Hollow ache fills empty bones,
A longing that has found its home.
Dave Strider, of Homestuck. A bit of fan-art, drawn from this:
Drawn in Photoshop CS4, using a Wacom Bamboo Pen tablet.