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9 days missing the snow
not by fear of color, just for feeling I’m
part of the clouds.
there’s room for cold skies in me,
as I take place, piece by piece.
8 days and there will be no iron,
no blade, just the fresh, long kinetic force
and power
going through the deep layers of what’s
made of flesh, of what’s made of me.
suffering is invisible, so roll a replay,
give me an encore.
7 days left I said “soon I will leave,
with patience I will be gone
and beauty will remain humble, although
I was nothing to it.”
6 days to the fjord, with the nostalgia
and the secrets under seawater, the floating,
looming of suicided dreams.
am I a lie for thinking, is it Nature’s truce
that allows me to be the one still alive, it's concept of Humanity?
the river continues, dragging along
the rest.
5 days, journey to quietude, to frozen peace,
to finally sleep. I’ve gone to every war
I’ve collected despair to barren myself,
soaking feet in blood,
driving myself sick. my mind sent me the reasons of this,
in a letter signed “U. N. Owen”.
4 days…
the world is written on facades I see,
like carved in glass. no fire beneath,
no heartbeat.
next to it is “E”, swayed, slashed furiously.
and the equation is complete.
3 days, I thought the blade was gone,
I thought the universe had sank, I pictured myself
Unique, alone.
I thought I knew what love and faith were, I thought
I knew what I hated. but
I can taste the snow loitering on my face, and
I don’t know the sky, beauty, myself or
the rest.
2 days left, useless quest
is truth anywhere but in my haunting?
seaweed in my hair as
my dead ideas slowly dissipate.
faking world end, writing on walls,
casting God away to look for him better (volatile being)
yes I’ve been alive, I’ve been a lie. now…
One day before dawn
we’re here and I can touch you
spring will rise upon unknown sources of belief
fractures of joy
and my home will dream
up and over suns, in a galaxy far away.
Zero tops, no time to wake up.
Apocalypse survivor Stripes. Not zombies, maybe aliens. Case in point, I'm traveling the land, protecting my keep, looking for the next safe spot to close an eye. I smoke and I have a fucking big gun because I'm a real man.
Art ->
mehawk
not by fear of color, just for feeling I’m
part of the clouds.
there’s room for cold skies in me,
as I take place, piece by piece.
8 days and there will be no iron,
no blade, just the fresh, long kinetic force
and power
going through the deep layers of what’s
made of flesh, of what’s made of me.
suffering is invisible, so roll a replay,
give me an encore.
7 days left I said “soon I will leave,
with patience I will be gone
and beauty will remain humble, although
I was nothing to it.”
6 days to the fjord, with the nostalgia
and the secrets under seawater, the floating,
looming of suicided dreams.
am I a lie for thinking, is it Nature’s truce
that allows me to be the one still alive, it's concept of Humanity?
the river continues, dragging along
the rest.
5 days, journey to quietude, to frozen peace,
to finally sleep. I’ve gone to every war
I’ve collected despair to barren myself,
soaking feet in blood,
driving myself sick. my mind sent me the reasons of this,
in a letter signed “U. N. Owen”.
4 days…
the world is written on facades I see,
like carved in glass. no fire beneath,
no heartbeat.
next to it is “E”, swayed, slashed furiously.
and the equation is complete.
3 days, I thought the blade was gone,
I thought the universe had sank, I pictured myself
Unique, alone.
I thought I knew what love and faith were, I thought
I knew what I hated. but
I can taste the snow loitering on my face, and
I don’t know the sky, beauty, myself or
the rest.
2 days left, useless quest
is truth anywhere but in my haunting?
seaweed in my hair as
my dead ideas slowly dissipate.
faking world end, writing on walls,
casting God away to look for him better (volatile being)
yes I’ve been alive, I’ve been a lie. now…
One day before dawn
we’re here and I can touch you
spring will rise upon unknown sources of belief
fractures of joy
and my home will dream
up and over suns, in a galaxy far away.
Zero tops, no time to wake up.
Apocalypse survivor Stripes. Not zombies, maybe aliens. Case in point, I'm traveling the land, protecting my keep, looking for the next safe spot to close an eye. I smoke and I have a fucking big gun because I'm a real man.
Art ->
mehawk
Category All / General Furry Art
Species Zebra
Size 768 x 1117px
File Size 113.2 kB
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