Layers

Claws.

I see them behind his back. 

We are at the altar, and I

am seeing what kind of

man he is.

Where others might cry or grin

He simmers

with a mouth full of razors.

He looks hungry

and I am afraid to feed him.

“Layers” she said. Sat

me down and professed her

   Sins.

“My son has Layers, and

who better than you to 

peel them away?”

The first year is slow.

I often lay beside him, brushing

  at scales

and ignoring glinting teeth.

“Are you afraid?” 

he asks, curling around my form

I never answer him

or maybe I do, because

He always laughs after.

The second year, I notice

something strange.

I run my fingers along

neat lines of gowns.

Our attic is dark,

but I can see the white

even in the dark.

He is curling himself in loops

on our kitchen floor

and I ask,

“Were you Married before?”

Yellow eyes blink at me

and then he frowns

says “Aren’t we Married?”

and refuses to say more.

The third year is angry.

I know he is lying.

Where are those other women?

He refuses to answer.

Coiled on our couch,

head in my lap

“Were you Married before?”

Twined in our bed,

“Were you Married before?”

I ask, and ask,

and he never has 

an answer.

The fourth year is filled with

Silence

 He leaves, and I never see

 him go.

Once, I thought to ask him

where, and he placed

a claw on my chin. His teeth gleamed

yellow In the dark.

“Do you want to know where 

those other women went?”

It is a spring day, 

when I find snakeskin 

lining our tub. 

Skin of monsters floating

in rose tinted water.

I can see him outside 

our bathroom–no change.

I ask him later,

“Did it hurt?”

And he looks from under lashes

And replies,

“No more than it ever did before.”

Layers, she said.

He will lose his Layers

and you must stay until then.

I don’t have time to wait.

I call, and I ask

“Did you know?”

 She says yes.

“Will I die too?”

There is quiet, and then:

“I had hoped you would 

be different.”

Claws. He has claws, and

I can tell that he is growing 

ready to use them.

“How much do you love 

your son?”

She pauses, exhales and then:

“I love him enough 

to feed him.”

It is the eighth month of 

the fourth year. I think of scales,

glinting teeth, and of the way his eyes

scare me. 

How much do I love him?

Do I love him at all?

Will I wait for him to

come home?

Will I ignore those sharp,

sharp claws?

Can I afford to anymore?

I know where

 those other women went.

I fear I have known for

  awhile.

Deep down, I am afraid

to answer any of 

those questions.

We’re almost out of time.

I can feel it, 

deep In my soul. 

I remember that spring day,

and of baths lined

with shed scales.

What would it take

for him to change?

It is the fifth year.

I don’t know what 

comes next,

but I have seen what kind

of man he is.

I look at his face often,

skipping delicately 

over his maw.

His scales never disappear,

but I sometimes find

his skins

and watch him for signs

of humanity.

I wonder if it even matters.

Years ago,

I looked up at him

and through his mouth,

came the question,

“Do you?”

Through my mouth

came the return:

“I do.”

Tonight,

I lay in bed desperately 

hoping that I never find out.

How do you

 kill a monster?

In fairy tales, you kill them 

with swords

with magic,

and with power.

I have none of those things.

My only hope is

that there is time yet

to learn to love him.

I’ll pray that he 

stay his teeth

and shed his skin

for my sake–lest my death 

do us part.

Public Static Void

Did you listen to the radio that morning

        And did the soundwaves hit you

The dreadful sound

       Were you cold then

And was it a deep breath

        Or a sigh

Was it a scream, that exhale of breath

        Or was it something else

Do you think it matters

        Was the drive long

Did you love it

          Were you wondering 

          who was beside you

And was I there

           Or did we forget me

Did you see me

           When that door closed

Were we there

           That warm night

What color was the sky then

           Was it blue

           Or purple

Did you see red

           Were you filled with it, the red

And did you notice 

          What the moon was like

Or did it notice you

          Did the sun blind you

When you blinked

           And blinked again

Did the impression stay

          Was it painful

Or did you forget to feel

           Could you have held my hand through it

Would you have wanted that

And could you have loved the feeling

Would you tell me if you did

For animation class. 2022.

“feeling like a person again” collection

Forward Pushing Movement Is Rather Difficult

Of course, I don’t mean walking.

Tell me,

have you ever looked up

and wondered how you got to this place

In your life? I haven’t.

It’s easy to keep a head down,

And it’s easy to pretend you recognize that space

Around you when you haven’t known where you

Were going for years–until you got here.

Now you’ve got to choose.

Take a step, walk deeper into this unfamiliar place.

You’ve already gotten here, your body wouldn’t know

What to do if you let it stop.

Forward pushing movement is rather difficult.

You look at your legs and, you don’t recognize them

for what they are.

The body has become a cage

Or rather,

you’ve finally noticed that

Your body is a cage.

People might talk about freedom,

But remember:

You will always be trapped

One way or another.

One foot in front of the other.

We all stop one day, right?

One day our legs refuse to carry our weight, and

We look down at them and wonder when it

Became so hard to put

One foot

In front

Of the other.

Come deeper into this unfamiliar place.

It knows you now–

And you are bound to walk through it.

I just can’t stop drawing them

microdosing on macrodosing by doing a normal amount

Layers

Claws.

I see them behind his back. 

We are at the altar, and I

am seeing what kind of

man he is.

Where others might cry or grin

He simmers

with a mouth full of razors.

He looks hungry

and I am afraid to feed him.

“Layers” she said. Sat

me down and professed her

   Sins.

“My son has Layers, and

who better than you to 

peel them away?”

The first year is slow.

I often lay beside him, brushing

  at scales

and ignoring glinting teeth.

“Are you afraid?” 

he asks, curling around my form

I never answer him

or maybe I do, because

He always laughs after.

The second year, I notice

something strange.

I run my fingers along

neat lines of gowns.

Our attic is dark,

but I can see the white

even in the dark.

He is curling himself in loops

on our kitchen floor

and I ask,

“Were you Married before?”

Yellow eyes blink at me

and then he frowns

says “Aren’t we Married?”

and refuses to say more.

The third year is angry.

I know he is lying.

Where are those other women?

He refuses to answer.

Coiled on our couch,

head in my lap

“Were you Married before?”

Twined in our bed,

“Were you Married before?”

I ask, and ask,

and he never has 

an answer.

The fourth year is filled with

Silence

 He leaves, and I never see

 him go.

Once, I thought to ask him

where, and he placed

a claw on my chin. His teeth gleamed

yellow In the dark.

“Do you want to know where 

those other women went?”

It is a spring day, 

when I find snakeskin 

lining our tub. 

Skin of monsters floating

in rose tinted water.

I can see him outside 

our bathroom–no change.

I ask him later,

“Did it hurt?”

And he looks from under lashes

And replies,

“No more than it ever did before.”

Layers, she said.

He will lose his Layers

and you must stay until then.

I don’t have time to wait.

I call, and I ask

“Did you know?”

 She says yes.

“Will I die too?”

There is quiet, and then:

“I had hoped you would 

be different.”

Claws. He has claws, and

I can tell that he is growing 

ready to use them.

“How much do you love 

your son?”

She pauses, exhales and then:

“I love him enough 

to feed him.”

It is the eighth month of 

the fourth year. I think of scales,

glinting teeth, and of the way his eyes

scare me. 

How much do I love him?

Do I love him at all?

Will I wait for him to

come home?

Will I ignore those sharp,

sharp claws?

Can I afford to anymore?

I know where

 those other women went.

I fear I have known for

  awhile.

Deep down, I am afraid

to answer any of 

those questions.

We’re almost out of time.

I can feel it, 

deep In my soul. 

I remember that spring day,

and of baths lined

with shed scales.

What would it take

for him to change?

It is the fifth year.

I don’t know what 

comes next,

but I have seen what kind

of man he is.

I look at his face often,

skipping delicately 

over his maw.

His scales never disappear,

but I sometimes find

his skins

and watch him for signs

of humanity.

I wonder if it even matters.

Years ago,

I looked up at him

and through his mouth,

came the question,

“Do you?”

Through my mouth

came the return:

“I do.”

Tonight,

I lay in bed desperately 

hoping that I never find out.

How do you

 kill a monster?

In fairy tales, you kill them 

with swords

with magic,

and with power.

I have none of those things.

My only hope is

that there is time yet

to learn to love him.

I’ll pray that he 

stay his teeth

and shed his skin

for my sake–lest my death 

do us part.

It's been a while since I did a panel redraw what do you all think it's very accurate in fact I'm not gonna post the original panels just take my word for it this is exactly what happens when Jason takes off his helmet in under the red hood

future detective prince!

love saying i’ve been getting really into mundane normal things as if they’re a new undiscovered hobby. been getting really into pudding cups lately.

been getting really into Beatles yaoi recently

sure. why not. been getting really into beatles yaoi recently. it doesn’t fucking matter. only made a cute post i thought we would all like about pudding. and now it’s about beatles yaoi. sure. whatever. been getting really into beatles yaoi. is that the response you wanted. congrats. you got it. fucking beatles yaoi.

up all night

a (mostly) one layer painting of kitties :^)

anti-surveillance-state hero

coke fiend

it’s what they deserved

the dyatlov pass incident

i’m in shambles tonight

grieving as an adult is so funny it's like. im sobbing my eyes out i'm laughing like a maniac im pondering the mortality of everything around me. ok glad thats out of my system because i have a dentist appointment in an hour