The dark side of the sketchbook.

Now wouldn’t you feel like getting hold of a penknife and feels your own heart’s blood twinkling on the surface?

When you have 3 black sketch pens, a thick black marker and a couple more stationary pieces that screams “Black”.

For the tens of you who have seen my sketches, I’ll post something other than this when a new idea strikes.

I know that I know how to kill,
I’ve heard people talk about the great weariness;
how to shed a tear,
how to bruise a soul.

A kind of peace with the noises of swords
into my sunken cheeks,
without words,like the lazy clouds
that drapes over the sky.

My ears are caked with dusts of nightmare.
Hearing no echo that called out for me.
I know that I know how to kill,
it will just not bring me that feeling of a thrill.
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