Color Me Undead: a poem and a drawing


COLOR ME UNDEAD

Sunshine is a false friend.

The weather never stays the same inside this hurricane:

Sky’s grey, then blue, then white;

There’s sun and then it rains.

I just never know when it’s safe to rest.

I gotta keep on the move

Always, even when I lose my groove.

Paint me, pain,

For I am a canvas

And I’ve been blank for too long now.

The ground isn’t very stable.

I keep falling in these muddy puddles.

They take away my colors; leave me numb.

Mean cycle; recycle…

Mom, rock me back to my cradle.

Sunshine is a false friend,

The storm it never ends!

Paint me, pain.

Paint me again,

Over and over again.

Give me a face.

Give me hard times.

And, please, leave a trace.

Weather forecast calls for the peeling of my soul.

Layer by layer I melt away

Under the merciless waves

Of this self-perpetuated hell.

Acid rains devour my core.

I barely bleed as I lose my skin.

Colorless; colorblind; who am I?

Paint me, pain.

Help me be again.

Show me I’m alive,

Not living in vain!

Show me who I am!

Show me that I can

Be more than a stain…

There’s still blood in these veins

And strength in these legs.

And next time,

When it rains,

Come back faster to me, friend,

And paint me sane & chained!

Color me undead;

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The drawing was fueled by Halfnoise’s EP The Velvet Face and Paramore’s latest song(which I’m so asdfghjkl about). So I was really feeling that colorful but mournful vibe. Which was already pretty strong with my post Pain is a color and I’m a rainbow.Ā And the first draft of the poem was fueled by the drawing. And then the real thing was fueled by the storm and insomnia and also eating a green apple past midnight.

It’s 4AM, I’ll try to catch some Zs now. There’s so much I need to say; I’ll try to write a post and let it out, maybe this week, maybe later, I don’t even know anymore.

Until next post, don’t eat apples after midnight and get some sleep ā¤

Autumn rain, painting&poem, 01.21.17


Finished that painting today. It was pending since at least October and I’m so glad it’s finally over with cos I really need to feel like I’m moving forward, especially right now.

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So, it’s acryclics on canvas, the usual A4 sized canvas sheet. The only thing this time is that I mixed the paint with some moulding plaster for the leaves (I tried to zoom in on a bit for you to see).

See, I had bought this rather big (not so much but compared to the size of the only moulds I have, quite a bit x) ) plaster bag a while ago and I finally came to the realization that I needed to get rid of it fast and that mom’s tiny moulds would never suffice. I thought about using it to get some texture with my acrylics which I still lack the technique to achieve “naturally”. I looked it up on the internet before doing it just to see if there were some steps to follow to ensure that it lasts or doesn’t break or anything, and I, of course, didn’t follow any of them because meh.

This being my first try, I’m not exactly satisfied with the level of texture that I achieved although I still think it’s pretty cool. The pictures won’t really show it though, unless I take close ups like the above. But it’s really interesting and I still have enough sheets and plaster to mess around some more with it and maybe even make something cooler!

I do have another “plaster painting” on the way which has been pending for pretty much as long as this one BUT might turn out better in some ways. Idek we’ll have to wait & see!

Anyways, the inspiration didn’t stop at my last brush stroke on this one; I also managed to write a poem to go with it! YAY RIGHT?

Autumn rain

Green is old

Yellow leaves

Leave the trees

I fall on my knees

And watch the bodies fall

Rain from a lower sky

Colors that refill my eyes

I think, here it is the Time

Where all things must die

Of a death that brings life

Orange drops

Red, brown dots

I grieveĀ all alone

InĀ the blazing cold

That rinses my bones

Turn the page,

Autumn rain.

Turn my page,

Make me new again.

Wooden towers

Fire showers

I now stand under

Waiting for the light of winter…

It’s 12:26AM and I find myself incapable of thinking so I’ll leave youĀ just like this…

Until next time, don’t forget to brush your teeth! ā¤

Please, wait your turn!


 

“The more air you breathe in, the more likely you are to die.”

She said before she closed her eyes,

“So let’s hold our breath and keep our hearts alive,

For shadows only can exist in light,

And preserve the candles inside.”

 

I looked at her but couldn’t smile.

How could she rather live than die?

And where in hell did she see a light?

There is no more spark inside,

I left it allĀ behind…

 

“Look at you, you’ve so much time yet so little,

Desire heights yet you’re so little…”

She let out a sigh and put on a smile,

“So, let’s go outside and begin it all!

We can do anything at all,

We can be everything we want;

Let’s be more than this!”

 

I looked at her but couldn’t cry.

The tears also have left my eyes.

I hate me and I long to be her again.

But all I have is me, today…

 

The new version, poorer version,

Of what was onceĀ passion.

I cannot share her dreams anymore,

I cannot be her friend anymore.

 

Too tired to even try; no digging tonight.

I’ll let her sink behind my eyes,

Let pain be my disguise

And contemplate my own demise.

 

So I’ll look away from the mirror;

I’ll find comfort in old liquor,

While she gets weaker

Inside, probably stuck in old scars.

 

“Let me out!”, she’ll scream,

“You’re ruining everything!”

And she’ll beg, and she’ll cry,

“Let me shine again, please!”

But I won’t listen.

 

I won’t help her.

I won’t help me.

I am the one I don’t know tonight,

The one thatĀ rather pretend than fight.

 

So I’ll look away from my indoors,

Find peace in ignorance,

Indulge inĀ mindlessness,

For I am a spinelessĀ mess.

 

Tomorrow is a new day but the waves are merciless,

We will only trade places when they let herĀ resurface!

She will shine outward and I’ll be the anchor

Dragging her to the deep sea for it’s the only stability,

The only place that we know always will be

There and familiar.

 

Then it’ll be my turn again

And I’ll pray for her return,

For theĀ strength back,

For the light I lack, the brighter black;

Our good old soundtrack…

 

But she’ll always want the rain back no matter what,

To wash away the feelings, the thoughts, the dirt,

She’ll crave the emptiness and hidng in the dark,

And I’ll be doomed to come back.

 

 

 

Dead Ink


DEAD INK

My words mean nothing

When they lie on the paper

With my eyes for only reader.

They taste good but they are dead.

Unspoken melodies,

Silent mysteries,

I see them, savour them,

But they mean nothing.

Only syrupy corpses

When kept to myself;

Necrophiliac.

My words are nothing;

All dressed in black.

My notebook is a coffin.

Lifeless, soulless ink,

Empty, lacking

Something they find

Only when they meet your eyes,

Your ears; your mind.

Without you I’m nothing,

I mean nothing,

So make me something.

Read me, hear me, see me…

These words are full of me;

If they are dead then it’s a “we”.

Kill the silence, fill the gap.

The rhythm in my heart, bring it back.

You have the keys,

Don’t close the door.

You breathe life into them,

You breathe life into me,

As you collide

With my pen’s dried blood.

Until I speak,

Until I sing,

Until you meet,

My words are just dead ink

Resting on dead trees.

Pieces of me to be shared with you.

Truth is I exist because of you.


Had the title for this one written in my sketchbook three weeks ago.

I was having a nice chat with a girl I know on Facebook when she told me she was considering sharing her writings on the internet but was a bit reluctant to do so. Ā I, of course, explained to her that she shouldn’t be afraid because she could receive constructive criticism and just simple feedback which was a very good and helpful thing. But my main argument was what lead me to this title and to this poem.

I strongly believe that art doesn’t become art until it’s shared with another soul. Your words don’t mean much when they’re on paper but as soon as they meet someone else’s eyes, they come alive. A poem that you don’t share is just like a page from a personal diary. Ā Until you put yourself out there, you don’t stand out; until you share pieces of you, they don’t really breathe. They’re just like secrets, like really beautiful jewels that you keep preciously in a wooden box so that no one steals them, so that it doesn’t get a single scratch or break… But these jewels could look even more beautiful under the sun, and shine freely.

I believe that art has to be shared to be art. Even if it’s just your mom or your sister, or just your friends, it’s still someone else. The magic happens when what you’ve created from pieces of you meet someone else, and creates reactions in them, feelings and so many things. It’s a lot about sharing, that’s what I’m saying. When you share, the magic happens and art happens.

I believe that art is not only self-expression but the transmission from one soul to another of a message whether it be “I’m angry my girlfriend lied to me” or “I love eating raw radishes” or just a random story about you going to the laundromat and writing a poem. (Yes, those are all examples I have experienced! Haha) Art is about saying something, giving something, and to give, you need someone to receive…

So yeah, it had been sleeping for a while in my sketchbook. And today as I went to the laundromat with my friend Leslie, I managed to write and finally get down my point of view on art. I’m really happy about it because it’s heartfelt and I’ve been waiting for a little while to get it out! So I hope you enjoy it!