Smoking kills
dream fever
n. the intense heat on the skin of a sleeping person, a radioactive byproduct of
an idle mind humming with secret delusions which then vaporize when plunged
into the cooling bath of reality, thus preventing a meltdown that could
endanger those close by, who tolerate the risk because it gives them energy.
(this isnt me just some random face that turned out to be mug :U orginally part of the portriat set i made for a couple of my friends for our D&D though id personally wwant to run through shadowrun again this time homebrewed)
draw in aseprite while smoking
Old Chinamen--what room there is!--each pf us on one foot from
his mother's attic
Dancing; though I'm on one foot sitting sort of tilted
knockkneed
We can't keep our lines aligned nor however our feet down--our
most serious tics
Star our marrings of "the natural the solid"--
Smell of a lemon shampoo, smiles' cornerings of cheekbones, a
cylindrical-wax
White, a sheaf of red, reveals Battersea, wide, gree
un-qunadary
I gather up my tics & tilts, my stutters & imaginaries
into the "up" leg
In this cancan where we're taxed just to flaunt it
That calf curved from a supercolossal waylay
The way ray strikes shade loss: less screen more flesh
bluffs
Cool bay things; change greenly to stream
Through face & feet, jangles tendrils free and reft of conscious
dark,
Made own piano surgical appliance
Pliant as the expert, expecting you to catch her whole act
n. the intense heat on the skin of a sleeping person, a radioactive byproduct of
an idle mind humming with secret delusions which then vaporize when plunged
into the cooling bath of reality, thus preventing a meltdown that could
endanger those close by, who tolerate the risk because it gives them energy.
(this isnt me just some random face that turned out to be mug :U orginally part of the portriat set i made for a couple of my friends for our D&D though id personally wwant to run through shadowrun again this time homebrewed)
draw in aseprite while smoking
Old Chinamen--what room there is!--each pf us on one foot from
his mother's attic
Dancing; though I'm on one foot sitting sort of tilted
knockkneed
We can't keep our lines aligned nor however our feet down--our
most serious tics
Star our marrings of "the natural the solid"--
Smell of a lemon shampoo, smiles' cornerings of cheekbones, a
cylindrical-wax
White, a sheaf of red, reveals Battersea, wide, gree
un-qunadary
I gather up my tics & tilts, my stutters & imaginaries
into the "up" leg
In this cancan where we're taxed just to flaunt it
That calf curved from a supercolossal waylay
The way ray strikes shade loss: less screen more flesh
bluffs
Cool bay things; change greenly to stream
Through face & feet, jangles tendrils free and reft of conscious
dark,
Made own piano surgical appliance
Pliant as the expert, expecting you to catch her whole act
Category All / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 2500 x 2500px
File Size 44.9 kB
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