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s³r³n⁴✧id✧she/her✧'09.02.18✧ID/EN/KO/ZH/JA✧
infp/if(n)✧4w5✧479✧sang-mel✧levf✧rcUa|I|✧sp/so✧IEI✧chaotic good(it's not mathematic calculations trust me bro)
art gallery
photographs
poetry
music taste
get to know me on surface level
only click if you're legitimately interested in me
:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧some of my art from age 12-15:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
[click/tap to see further!]
some of the examples!
!! EXAMPLE !!The Emotion of Being EmotionlessAre my strings tangling?
— or are they simply gone?
I can't feel my heart, just my liver.
I can feel my inhales and exhales,
but I can't feel tears coming out—
while everyone's weeping and wiping.Yes, yesterday I screamed my intestines out—
yes, yesterday I nearly took a life of my own.
But now, seeing their concerned faces,
I am bamboozled myself.Then the next day, another day of tormenting the innocent, paper, my love.
Again, blood splatters my pure, white paper.
Screeching as if hell were in my own eyes,
carving my skin, stabbing my tendons,
pushing my fingers into my eyes.
And I'd wake up, wondering why the room is a mess.I knew I felt it, but now, where did it go?
I tried to let it all in—again—on paper.
But guess what? All I can write is 3,1415 and so on.I have to feel it. as a human, it's mandatory.
No humans think of 20 digits of phi at funerals!What exactly is the point of poetry?
It is not to write the details of the cold war—
it is not to write the pythagorean theorem—
it is to unleash emotions.AND I FUCKING CAN'T!!!
WHAT KIND OF PERSON IS MAD—
BECAUSE THEY CAN'T BE MAD!?
