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erotesque — Sigurd and Basilice, my characters
#androgynous #copicmarkers #gothic #gothicfantasy #oc #originalcharacter #semirealism #semirealistic #vampire #vampireart #witch #copicmarkerart #art #oc_artwork
Published: 2022-12-11 14:41:54 +0000 UTC; Views: 1425; Favourites: 22; Downloads: 0
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Description
The burnout sun keeps hidingbehind silken foil of a rainy night.
Yet I’m standing there,
slowly drowning,
in the middle of the flooded room,
lit by silver crispy moonlight powder.
I froze in front of a grainy surface of a blurred mirror.
It reflects anything but myself.
Or everything, but...
A narrow serpent path,
framed by aromatic ribbon of valley lilies,
leads to the edge of the world.
It disappears imperceptibly
into a curved ghostly silhouette of the ash grey trees,
lost between the fluffy walls of a snow-white grass.
I touch my fingers beyond the mirror,
its fingers.
It looks at me from beyond the mirror,
beyond good and evil,
beyond myself.
What does it feel?
What does it whisper?
It keeps raining from the ceiling,
my room subtly turns into aquarium.
I get wet,
I get liquid,
I slowly disappear.
I merge with the liquid floor,
I touch its glossy surface,
and it catches me back.
Does it think about me as much as I keep thinking about it?
Dry wind is raging beyond the crooked mirror,
It hurts my eyes,
I can feel the cracks crawling all over my body.
Someone keeps looking through the cracks,
with eyes blinded.
Moon backflipped and disappeared.
I have just learned to breathe under the water.
My skin becomes grainy.
I can peel it off, if I try.
I can peel off my thoughts, if I try, as well.
I can see them fall off, like dried blossom.
And here I am,
standing in the middle of an ocean of dead flowers,
I do not drown,
I stay.
Someday the valley lilies will grow,
And in the middle of the ballroom,
A crowned dusty skeleton,
studded with venomous kisses,
Is hidden and abandoned,
By fallen angels,
Rainy drops on my cheeks,
angels´ forced tears,
in the corner of my lips,
tasteless.
Albino poppy milk mopes into cotton clouds.
My shadow desperately tries to gather them,
To bandage my wounded chest with the cotton clouds,
And stop it from bleeding.
As the cotton clouds get torn apart,
thousands of white moths are bursting into a gleaming firework.
The moth wings stick to the bleeding cracks,
it hurts to peel them off.
The floor gets unstable as my shadow leaves it.
Upright, my shadow is standing behind me,
in front of me is my reflection.
I feel uncomfortable pressure.
I am scared to breathe.
An apple piece is stuck in my throat.
I hold my spirit.
Neither of us breathe.
Neither of us want me to breathe.
I beg the moon to quit.
But the rain doesn’t stop.
My fingertips become numb,
I have lost all my thoughts.
Can I wash my eyes clean?
The world around me is blurred.
I am safe,
as long as I keep drowning,
I am alive.
The death is dry.
Trembling feathers of my cotton shirt,
washed and dried hundred times,
are covered with clotted blood.
The feathers turn black behind the mirror.
In darkness everything loses its shade.
It steams and boils inside the vase of my heart,
my ventricles are stuffed with seeds and onions.
Maybe someday,
my arteries will bloom.
The steam smells like the valley lilies.
The heat of my boiling heart melts my chest,
Made of wax.
Step into my mind
and you will hear the echoes.
Yet,
The white marble elephants of time are mute.
How long are we gonna stay here?
How long does it take for diamonds to turn black?
Until the third eye of the elephant cracks.
