HemengoaBakarrik nire heriotzannire ahoan aurkituko dutenongoa nintzen.SnailThe artists I know are mammals. There is a girl who is a bat,Shy in the light, creative in the dark.Her paintings are best when alone in solitude. Another I can say is a sloth,He may be slow understanding things,But I attest to the wonders he paints with his mind. I saw spiders who are smallWith weaves of intricate webs,Ants who built sculpturesWith a common goal,Alligators who come with dirtTell stories about the dirty. I see all this while I move sluggishly,A story covering fourth of the page,A trail of words days in making, still. The animals I know are quick with art.Yet because of my nature, art is slow.I give time to thought, and time to writing. Time can be bound to art,Yet art is unbound by time. Snails can be artists, too."jenny"as she stands at the beach,the sea flowing like blood,the sense of evil around her,her eyes bleed out the tears that she's cried for ages,deep down in her soul, there is a hole in her heart, all she sees are the eyes staring at her,a bloodied corpse levitating in the void,and the monsters she couldn’t stop. the world she desired burns around her,her face empty and catatonic,her emotions on fire. she lands back on the beach,still terrified and heartbroken,but her soul has not flown away.she finds her old guitar laying on a rock,still working despite the wear and tear,and her despair flows out, not to escape like 80 guinea pigs in a hole,but to melt, like the facade she always contained.merely a husk“as I stare at my burnt wingsand crawl through the empty world around me,I always see the eyes of those who suffer at the handsof the ones who they were taught to trust.I always knew we were lied to our whole livesand that all that they wanted from us was our bloodbut before, I wanted to be like icarus,escaping my cruel reality, and feeling free.i feel the scars of their souls, and feel the fangs ofthe basilisk.i am merely prey, i am merely fresh meat,my soul is here just to be consumed by an ouroboros.but I refuse to let myself rot, I want to persistto retain what I have, and to keep my soul.either I fight back and sufferor I give up and become nothing”the dying crowi was vanished to hell as punishment for not feeding the snake that consumes and releases as the vines pierce my veins and soul and my skin cracks and leaks blood i pass out on the floor my mouth bleeds out and when i wake i hear the cry of a bird that sounds like my screams i find him under a rock it's alive but doesn't look like it it seems to be in the same condition i'm in it's wings bleed and it's bones stick out some of it's feathers were plucked out i poured a river of tears and he stared at me the crow responded by scratching my face and arms despite the anger i felt towards it i refused to attack it back i knew it's suffering, it's cries for help never answered, and it's want for revenge i feel it's despair and will to die i don't have much but i try to heal it and keep it alive it still screeches at me sometimes it still attacks me when his trauma attacks his brain like a hawk grabs a snake it refuses to look at those not in this hell but for some reason it got attached to me and refuses to leave me side now it has fully healed physically though the mental damage has yet to fully heal now it can fly and it's wings work again, albeit weak and frail it wants to fly but it doesn't want to leave me then my back started to ache feathers and bones sticking out blood leaking out of my scars new and old seems to be from the crow's love for me seems to be a gift for the fact i brought it's flight back as the bones and feathers increase they start forming wings like the crow, but way bigger we are learning how to fly we still can't escape the hole forced on us but one day we will fly together back home under the moonlightWoe To The Golden Calf (Vent Poetry)I pushed her away, or so I tried.Blocked out, pushed far, where she should hide.Yet everywhere I turn, she lies,Like an ever-present parasite, unconfined. This Golden Calf, they kowtow and pray,Her artwork and words are the truth, they blindly say.They lift her high, like a shining lie,And turn to me, with expectant eye. "Join us," their sheep gazes plead,"Worship our prophet, help sow her seed.""Bow down to our queen," they say, as I cringe,They're just her little puppets in her venomous fringe. What holy grace does she possess?Just a showoff artist, a high and mighty mess,Her art and words, apparently something grand,But I see the flaws, and no one understands. They rave about her hypocritical painted lines,Her "lovely" drawings, her "grand" designs.But I just see an insignificant hand,Deceitful paints and pencils from where I stand. She's not special, not even a bit good,Her annoying pictures just fill me with a bad mood.Just lines and colors, flaccid and thin,Baseless sculptures, a boring spin. I'm tired of her, in every way.I just wish that she would go away.Fall from prominence, like a wave's crash,Reduced to dust, like crumbled ash. Oh, what a joy that would impart!A freedom for this spiteful heart.I'd buy cake and ice cream, colors so bright,To celebrate her downfall through the night. A sweet feast, a joyous release,That thought alone will be my endless peace,A cruel thought, yes, I know it's true,But, everything about her, I am through.A Breath of AutumnAn inhale of cool air,A feeling I'd forgotten,Passing through then gone again,Take in a breath of autumn It's creeping in,Sneaking past,Poking through the summerA fleeting glimpse,It doesn't last,This heat is such a bummer.you've died many timesI could bury you,just like I did with those before you.You get better at it with age;letting go.Just like you taught me.ЖаждаПеределай нашу жаждув море глубиной ступней.Раскрывай наши жаждыв нереальную модель. Покажи нашей жаждечто у всех вкус ужасный.Покажи как ты видишьнашу реальность. (Ух, какая гадость.)Apartment PrincessA single drop of water from the tea cup. What are we doing here, apartment princess? Drunk on the platonic concept of two stories, and fairytales about suburban homing. Oh, chinita bitch, this is not your calling. Set down the white porcelain teacup, don’t spill it on the awning. The fable cat is sleeping, tired of talking about the swan princess. High on the concept of a home with spiral stairs, fungus is circularly growing on the mattresses. What’s so crazy is that you eyed your friends apartment, fantasize about letting the bathtub tap running until the entire edifice is coated in liquid. What are we doing here, apartment princess? Let it burn and let it drip.mundanity exhaustedI am layingOn the floorMy guts spilled outI am exhaustedMad at myselfI did againA mundanity I cannot manageLullaby for the end of the worldFreedom in the form of a water drop Wind gently carrying me Let this place burn to the ground And from it sprout the night’s dream Waves in the pottery Glaze what’s left of the earth Kiss my cheek and wish me good luck I will be weightless and float upwards I’ll fall in love with the sunrise I’ll say goodbye when the sun falls Curtain going down on the landscape Mantle of night I can see all A clear map of the sky dome Etheric waterfalls when I close eyes Interlace fingers with the firmament Kiss me goodnight and I’ll slumber Like the glimmers of the sea when the night comesChanged the belt on my vacuum cleaner today.I changed the belt in my vacuum todayI'm not sure if it worksI can see its chamber fillA lone dust bunny spinningBut I remember daysWhen the dust would crackleThrough her insidesAnd the proud mechanical whirOf her brush rolling on the carpetBut today a gust of windPulls into a leak, somewhereAnd though the chamber is fullSo much has been left behindA loose red thread sticks to the floorMocking the two of usAnd I feel the ache in my wristThe weight of my bodyAs I pluck the thread to tossINSEPARABLEdownload and read our zine through the link below!! https://manyface.itch.io/inseparableBlood chrysalisI pick at my skin unzipping my charade, with enough scabful bloodletting I’ll be bathed entirely. As the blood will harden into a carapace, and I’ll emerge as perfect out of my blood chrysalis.Still hereAre you still here with me?With your paws and your feet?Are you still here with me?You sweet little thing? If you are still here,then you never will leave.Past death will persist,your sweet little ears. Past death will persist,and they never will leave.Your sweet little patters,your whiskers and caress.Past death you persist,you sweet little thing. And I’ll carry you, I’ll carry you, I’ll carry you;forever with me.Past death you persist,you sweet little thing And I’ll carry you, carry you, carry you, carry you, carry you;so you can still persist.You sweet little thing. With your sweet little eyes,a ticklish design,and your sweet little ears,forever with me.Princess ApartmentKhrushchevka royalty, apartment-bred The stump in the courtyard houses a fairy There’s a hollowed out brick with a spider scary Shadowed by a hollow box, of princess apartment Concrete Rumanov, will you rot in the forest or in a Cementery? a house elf left a print in the cement, now the path has the hole of a coin sized hoof Leave a leaf under your pillow, four more if you’re behind on payment, Gnomes tend to be forgiving debtors Spriggans shouldn’t be landlords They burst the bubble in ‘08 Blamed it on that NFT monkey