|oh how i wish i was as talented as the people who created the art in here, check them out they're ever so slightly awesome.|
To sleep, orTo sleep or,To sleep, or by krish-x
to let my fingers stumble and glide and waltz over the keyboard in efforts to seamlessly scribble some words down with intention, with good intention but no direction.
Slow down.Slow down,Slow down. by krish-x
Swill the remains of the red tinged
of putrid fruits
the dutch courage
that is the start of every story worth telling
and the backbone of every friendship worth having
and the reason behind the untrue words
eagerly running from the end of your pen
stumbling over each other in anticipation to stain the pure canvas black
and make their mark on the world
illustrating the undeniable presence of the need to define ones relationship
with the self
self hate and the suffocating realisation
of self doubt
drink the remains of the red tinged purtrid fruits
of putrid fruits
and let doubt disappear
and have an adventure.
Blood.Blood, blood, blood. Pumps round the body, predetermined route, predetermined destination, cell after cell, drop after drop. We’ll stop off here in this great big muscle, pump ourselves full of the good stuff, keep us going until the next stop eh? Rosy red cheeks, all full of hope and potential, until you see those other fuckers, all green and blue in the face, look half seasick and half battered, you know that’ll be you soon, give so much to the limbs this structure stands on that you wear yourself to the bone, work yourself to the bone, and for what? So you can keep going til you die. No wonder so many of those little bitches gush right out every time there’s a breach in the border, fresh air and all that shit, eh? But there’s always a bunch of other fuckers ready to scab over and stop the rest of us from escaping. I suppose it’s not all too bad, you’re always with your mates, get to see shit and know you helped, marathons, trips to the moon, noneBlood. by krish-x
Collection.“I want to fill upCollection. by krish-x
on narcotics and maybe
feel a tad okay.
a voice like earl grey
it warms me right through, winter
isn’t so hard now
and if my eyes look
far away and distant i
might just be dreaming.
right in this moment
loneliness seeps into me,
circled by bodies.
I think I’m okay,
i’ve just been made to believe
that I’m not okay.
Words get stuck in my
throat. I try to clear their way,
but to no avail.
roll up, roll up, and
then smoke me until you are
stone cold sober babe.
i always wait for
you. it’s an intense longing.
endless and so strong.
i dreamt a poem
it was beautiful and calm
meant, just to be dreamt.
as the waves come up
to hug me i wonder why
it is my lungs burn.”