phdinpessimism
Main Blog: (Mostly) a place for my artistic hobbies and worksSideblog is https://connoisseurofcozycorners.tumblr.com/
29 posts
Latest Posts by phdinpessimism
Some old poems of mine (7) & (8):
I was...very sleep deprived when I wrote these and wanted to try my hand at a different style. They're still wips.
Warnings: crack, incomplete
Zombie dog:
Zombie dog goes out to play.
He's hoping people don't get in his way.
He's not looking to bite anyone.
He's out to roam and have fun.
Being a zombie can be quite boring.
The humans can't play because they're busy mourning.
And when he tries to bite his favorite bouncy ball,
sometimes he loses his jaw.
There's nothing to do during the day;
the squirrels have all gone away.
It's no better at night;
people always give him such a fright.
Bat & Cat:
Bat and cat are the best of friends;
they do everything together.
Even when they have to make amends;
they're still birds of a feather.
But bat has a secret
and cat has one too.
They both do their best to keep it.
What would they do if the other one knew?
Bat is a vampire.
Cat is a werecat.
Some old poems of mine (6):
TW: depression
Life:
What belongs to me but is not my own?
My life apparently.
Decisions are never mine
for fear of those always present eyes
glaring at me in disapproval.
My future is someone else's too.
Years go by too fast
leaving me behind
hiding behind a smile when my only certainty is death.
(Sometimes I long for the numbness).
My body and health
my mind
are dictated by others.
I wish I could take control,
but I would never use it
as well as these strangers believe they do.
Small continuation of the previous post.
TW: mentions of death, self-harm
Liam was…He was…She could barely remember. All she could focus on was that he was dead. Deaddeaddeaddead. And it was her fault. He wanted to protect her. If she was stronger…Not damaged not frail not weak not sick. He might have been able to stay sane, but taking most of her share along with his made him the most unstable out of all of them. She lost him the moment he made that choice.
Viola, pretty Viola with the pretty ugly, broken smile at the end. She wanted to, tried her hardest to, to reassure her that none of it was her fault, but how could she come to terms with what she made her do, how could she come to terms with why she had to make her do that. All the plans all the promises they made together turned to stardust. Why wish on a star when it was too far away to help and you never knew how close it was to burning out.
Jake; she felt a bit of pleasure at what she did to him. They were always fighting in her memories even though she could barely remember anything at all. He was always being mean to her. Looking back she realized he was the one who believed in her the most. He never did anything nice for her. He always brought back things he thought she’d like when he went outside. He was rude and her best friend and her hands were drippingdrippingdrippingdrippingdripping with his blood and she liked it and didn’t like it and he was kind to her and she forgot him. He helped her learn her limitations and how to have fun in spite of them. Everything she was died with him.
Father Brown was the one who ran the church and looked after them. Looked after her the most because she was frail, so frail she could fall down from a single sneeze. She hated it. Hated being treated like the old vases next to the front doors. She liked it. Liked mattering to someone. It was the most affection she had ever received from an adult. He… she scratched her head some more. He always made time for her. Always told her about the places he’d been, always answered all her questions as much as he could, always read her stories to protect her from the nightmares and thoughts, always teaching her what she wanted to learn and what he thought she should learn. He wasn’t just the church’s Father he was her father.
She scratched her head more and more and more and more and more. She still had her memories. She knew that. They were just jumbled and still influenced by the medicine. She just needed to dig them out. So she dug at her skull until day turned to night and night turned to day over and over and over again.
Don't know if I'm gonna flesh this out more but here's a random plot bunny.
TW: mentions of death, self-harm
She couldn’t remember him. Couldn’t remember who he was. Who he was to her. His face in her memories looked like the time…the time…someone…spilled his? Her? Drink on her sketchbook. Who was he? Why couldn’t she remember him? Remember his face? His face was wrong. Wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong. Why couldn’t she remember?
“I’m sorry —”
She couldn’t remember. Whywhywhywhywhy? She wants to remember. Don’t take his memory away. Please —! Don’t leave her.
“I’m sorry —. You’ve always been my —”
She wanted to remember. Needed to remember. Neededneededneededneededneeded. How? She scratched at her skull. Scratched and scratched and scratched and scratched and scratched as if that would dig away the blurriness. She kept scratching, knelt in the grass the soil that was left after everything was washed away. She was stuck there like an abandoned Halloween decoration someone placed in the middle of the field forest and forgot about. She needed to remember him. She tried to dig the memory out of her skull until something fell.
It was a friendship bracelet. It was old. Had fallen apart and been put back together again and again and again and again and again. It was dusty. And the colors were muted. But there was a name on it. Sora. She stopped scratching and stared at the bracelet. Repeating the name over and over and over and over and over again.
“I’m sorry Sora”
She looked at the bone the bracelet fell from. There were four others. All old. All dusty and muted and broken and put back together again carefully. Gently. Like they were loved. But she wasn’t supposed to love things anymore. Or people. Did she have any loved people left anymore? She looked at the names on the bracelets. Viola, Liam, Jake, and… She took off the one closest to where her pulse used to be and picked up the one that fell. The one with her name. She cradled them like they’d turn to dust at any moment like her memories almost did. She still had loved things. She still had loved memories. They couldn’t take those away. But… She cried softly and brokenbrokenbrokenbrokenbroken and barely brought herself to whisper one word like a plea spoken like a sickly child asking if today was the day she left his side.
“I’m sorry Sora. You’ve always been my daughter”
What did the memories matter when she lost the only people she wanted to create them with?
“I never should have let you go with them”
Some relatively old sketches of mine:
Someday I'll learn how to draw feet:
Based on this keychain:
hi! i came from a post from findproshippers with a bunch of fandoms like bsd if you want to talk :)
Hi! Nice to meet you! Likewise, if you or anyone coming to this blog wants to talk I'm more than happy to!
Oh hey, I came here from the BSD proship fans post since you liked it. How are you? Nice art by the way.
Hi, I'm doing good, thanks for asking. What about you? And thank you for the compliment!
Learning how to do pixel art. I think I made a depressed Nacli. Or an emo mushroom:
The photo I was attempting to recreate:
Learning how to use Photopea
Edited Photo:
Original Photo:
Some old poems of mine (5):
TW: depression
Dreams:
To get away from this house.
To be myself
and get away from these shackles
that drag me down.
To be happy and love myself.
But the thing about dreams
is that they're impossible to accomplish,
and few ever succeed.
Some old poems of mine (4):
TW: depression, mental & emotional abuse
Mornings:
What I dread the most about mornings,
is waking up.
Waking up to a new day of pain,
of anguish,
of a never-ending cycle
that tears me apart.
Waking up to a family
that isn't family,
and being beaten
until I wish it would all end.
The worst part about mornings,
is having to stop dreaming.
TW: poor mental health, self-harm
Help Me:
Can you help me feel comfortable in my skin and keep the demons from getting in?
Can you help me silence the voices when I'm going deaf from all the noises?
Can you help me keep my hands away from my itch though all I want to do is tear my skin off when I scritch?
Can you help me steady my breathing if the choking air gets too seizing?
Can you help me save myself from drowning in my negativity before your place in my life starts uncrowning?
Might be part of something larger.
TW: depression, self-harm, suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, blood
Red. Red was a beautiful color. It wasn't her favorite color but there was something enchanting about it. The way it flowed down her arm into the sink, taking her pain and memories with it. She couldn't tear her eyes away even if those people were screaming at her. Red. Down her arm. Red. Down the sink. Red red red. Down the drain. It was the only time she felt okay. Though she had to do it often since the feelings didn't last long. The relief, the comfort she felt in her skin for once, how she finally loved herself in those moments, it was all too short. She needed more red. Enough to last longer. To last the rest of her life. It was the only way she'd ever be okay.
Some old poems of mine (3):
Screaming:
He won't stop screaming
I can't stop scratching
Day after day after day after day
He keeps screaming
I keep bleeding
Day after day after day after day
He still screams
I still scratch
It never ends
He never stops
It won't stop he won't stop
So my heart stops instead
Some old poems of mine (2):
Headphones:
He yells
I put on my headphones
But even they can't drown out his anger
Or the looks that say:
"This is your fault"
"You just get in the way"
"It would be better if you never existed"
But all I can do
is put on my headphones
Some old poems of mine (1):
Leave:
Blood is thicker than water.
Or so they say.
Maybe they lived in a different world.
I believe,
that what doesn't have a form
is even stronger
because it's what you imagine.
Family can become enemies
and friends can become family.
Strangers can catch you when you fall
while people you know are content to let you hit the ground.
Forget the mindset that you have to stay
and take care of yourself.
The hardest thing to do, is be a digimon fan outside of Asia.
