Stepped outside, only to meet a blank stare from a dead looking sky. A grey kind of light, overcast but dry. The kind of day, we would have stayed, inside. Curled up on that little thing we called our bed.

Wasting a day away, never felt so great. Now I can’t escape the red, fogging up my vision; hate.

I want nothing more than to walk back inside and lay on our bed. But you’re done with me. With we. You moved ahead. I should respect that, but my stomach feels like lead, and I can’t even curl up in my own fucking bed. Without crying out for you.

So fuck you for that, and all the rest.

I’m just trying my best, to just move on.

But when my place of rest, turns to bitter test, of me vs. myself and the memories of us and the nights we lay awake dreaming of less…and more…and how the world could be ours if we’d just reach out and…

But that’s worthless now.

And I’m worthless now.

Too bad you’re not.

And I want nothing more than to burn that bed, but I’m too filled with dread, that when it’s gone, these fading memories will finally leave my head.



Portfolio Link:

Time is Tricky

Would you change something, anything, in your past given a chance? Could you deal with the consequences of that one decision? Could anyone?


Black ink and B2 pencil base with black, white, and grey charcoal (textured over a copper board). Highlights done in white ink (bleached not synthetic).


Willow o’ Wisp

Le Willow o’ Wisp

Cornhusking the dog,
It pauses,
Before sipping it’s grog,
A mixture of fermented oils from frogs.

A salesmen at start,
A sick fuck at heart,
Clyde shapens his pitch,
And my lips; how they part.

Wide an’ oh so wallow,
Like this neck in a noose,
He sells me his product,
As my hands won’t come loose.

The bonds o’ his trade,
Le willow of wisp,
A fragment; no spade,
Of hell and its bliss.

Behind me he walks,
Continues his talks,
And slithers his husk around my kin.

Making me watch,
He delivers his thoughts,
Oh; how do the knives even talk?
“The darkness always wins.”

Creepy Doll

Creepy Doll

That clay-mold doll,
Strung up on our wall,
Is funny.

Stare out to the night,
An insomniacs call,
Red eyes stare me back,
Coarsened with fright.

That clay-mold doll,
You strung on my wall,
Is daddy.

A pale moon flight,
Three hallows prior,
Mom found him at sin,
Before stealing his light.
That old clay doll,

Strung up on my wall,
Is stretching.
Bending and breaking,
Clacking and creaking,
Faux-sect protrusions,
Of potters good wake.

That clay-mold doll,
Strung me up on the wall,
And started to sin for the old days sake.

Daily Prompt: Zoo

via Daily Prompt: Zoo



The way I am with you,
No excuse could do,
For why I never left.

That time you caved my nose in,
_______________________________  Like a babe screaming murder,
_______________________________________________________________ ‘Bout a thing I never did.

The way you beat our kid,
Should have broke my lid,
If that didn’t, well nothing ever did.

Just tear me asunder,
Call me your bitch,
Let your friends know I’m worthless,
A stone-cold witch,
So you can feel something,
Let ignorance be bliss?

I could have run home,
Brought Martin there too,
I chose to stay here,
And let you do me,

The backstroke was vicious,
The words; they were cruel,
I should have saw it coming,
That day in our zoo.

A broken dormant wolf,
Snarling over the years,
My mom saw it coming,
So you cut off my ears.
Whispering a sweet poison,
I only ever believed,
Because I was too broken,
To just fucking see.

So rape me again,
__________________Please kill me this time,
_________________________________________I’m too afraid to do it,
_________________________________________________________________And leave Martin behind.





Amazing face,
That’s all I see,
Let me taste,
Our serenity.

How could I lie,
That ill-thought night,
I made you cry,
A soul-torn plight.

I do admit though,

Low-born fire,
Inside this knot,
You called me a liar,
Said; go fester and rot.

On purities pyre,
A monolith grows higher,

Strewn through pain I wrought upon us both,
That night in the fire.

But you still know this,
If I ever spoke truth,


I’d be a night-crowns kill,
A shell of a man,
So love you I will,
As much as I can.

Artwork in Progress + Steps


I recorded many of the steps along the way: 

Outline work:



Minor shading and reinforcing line-work:



Watercolor overlay and deeper mid-tone base:


Water-color detailing (Bad Picture, the light is reflecting off the heavier painted areas):


Heavy oil and pen shading+detailing in addition to skin shading and texture work (Current Progress):


It has taken on a bit of a surreal vibe with the self-harm symbolism being echoed through the blood-tinged smoke, the wrist, the smoking, and standing in front of a moving train. I like how dark I’ve managed to get the shadows as well. I need to go in with some white and highlight a few things, but I want to get basic mid-ranges handled on the train and grass before I do so.

The scene itself is from Finding Happy: Chapter 11, which hasn’t been released yet. I need to spend a week or two re-editing the flow of part one as a whole, at which time I’ll start releasing more hard-content. Another issues with these pictures is I couldn’t submit .Tif files, which really hurts the shadows in the current drawing, especially the hair. I’m going to try to figure out which compression file works best for it in future uploads, but I just wanted an update on artwork put out since it’s been almost a week and a half.





You’ll never believe:

Some people break and stay broke,
Some people break then make,
the best of the rest.
Try to put the pieces back,
but the jagged edges stick out,
and cut those who try to help.

Shatter my rotting soul,
Grotesque and festering mold.
I can put them back right.

Bring me that light,
let it pierce my shell; so cold.
Do we need to grow so old?
Just want to do what I’m told.
Tell me.