idyllicnightmare69

[idyllicnightmare69]

"Curiosity Killed My Beia" A comic I did for The Spinoff's Comic of the Month

[idyllicnightmare69]

Aged child

My computer is alive;

it breathes for me.

It’s battered breath resembled the excreted air from smoker’s lungs.

It holds my hand as I write onto digital paper –

It’s a friendlier fellow than my phone

who just lays next to me in bed, nonsensically speaking.

I’ve killed one of its kind. And the other too.

How can I not help breaking inanimate things

that soothes me;

says that I’m better on my own.

It’s an aching, lonely feeling.

Life promised to teach me how to swim and rode off in a boat

as I drowned with delusional contentment.

I’ve aged but here I continue to remain as a child.

I have not matured, the loneliness silenced me.

The eyes of those in power have kept me in line.

I am not who you think I am.

I plan to run free and die trying to live my lost teenage years.

I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back.

[idyllicnightmare69]

It's a bit late but I turned 1 today!

[idyllicnightmare69]

People I love

I hate it when-

People I love

Forget

That I have a heart

People I love

Forget

How much I've fought

People that I've loved

Forget

I'm more than a doll

I hate when I forget

I don't need to please them at all

[idyllicnightmare69]

I had walked down the street alone with my mum

and a stranger hummed and stared at my feet 

and approached me and rubbed my eye bags with a greasy finger

with such distressing tenderness...

Love that I've never felt before.

He asked if I needed a hug.

He had stared at my feet; 

because on my shoelaces 

was written 'Comfort me' in foreign languages 

that I didn't even know.

[idyllicnightmare69]

Poet's block

My shoes blend into the woven carpet –

stiff, threads poking out to say an angry hello.

My shoelaces that dangle over the heel of my shoe, loose and long.

The persistence that whips the back of my ankle when I walk.

A large, untidy bow that dares to loosen again,

but it’s okay, anything can be derelict with their jobs –

like my shoes that are meant to hold together

to keep my shoes on my socks

on my feet.

This poem means nothing –

it is simply about shoes, and loose shoelaces, and old carpet.

Everyone is allowed to be bad at what they’re supposed to do.

I will be bad with my poems and my grades and my friends.

My shoelaces will untie and beg for me to tie them back up again and again.

The carpet will sit there, being stomped on by black leather shoes

and brushed past from other loose shoelaces

dangling over like a child dangling upside-down over

from their bed.

If I dangle over my bed like a child,

Will I think of my upside-down bedroom

or of the blood slowly rushing to my head?

[idyllicnightmare69]

I realised that gratitude is all that remains in the desolate times. You are sitting in a room full of people who once shared a laugh with you, maybe even cared for you but now they are sitting out of an external pressure and without it they might not have been there. After a frantic phase of the lovelessness taking over, it washes away when you sit to feel the gratitude of the ones who have been there. The pain of the lost love and especially them sitting right with you is overbearing but the love that you already have is greater.

They haven't been there. They were never to be there. What use is it to lament on what could have been? I now sit here trying to stew in the love that is. The gratitude emerging is greater. Count the good times you had, face whatever comes. You have survived far worse.

[idyllicnightmare69]

I want to die by walking barefoot into a foamy ocean at midnight in my Sunday best without regrets. I can't swim either way, so when my head sinks far underneath the waters, I will be unable to leave.

It won't be a peaceful death, but people will consider it a romantic getaway from life. Maybe that will comfort them, that I went away poetically, though they will never know about how I'd struggle to breathe and suffocate - my lungs filling with water, thick with salt and ocean sewage as I'd desperately try to swim up but later give up due to exhaustion.

I wonder if they'd find my body washed up on the bay, or only my sandals and all my most precious belongings will be evidence of my drowning.

[idyllicnightmare69]

Heartbroken Fish Tank

I loved them.

It was as beautiful of a line as the sea foam.

Like a large fish tank empty besides the water that bubbled,

the old filter still cleaning the barren artificial habitat.

It sounded like I was drowning underwater,

in a broad ocean - calm under the violent spats of rain.

And the muffled sound of teardrops from heavy clouds

slashing rapidly against the delicate skin of the waves.

Like that fish tank alone, tinted a hint of a green –

I am filled with nothing that says ‘hey, it’s alive!’

The memories I bear, I will love and cry over.

But no one will notice if the ocean has grown with tears.

They will only marvel over how it shines under sunlight.

You are understanding of my pain,

bottled up like a ship placed in cemented glass.

I’m just not sure how I can get the closure I require.

[idyllicnightmare69]

My three girlfriends. And yes, they smoke weed.

[idyllicnightmare69]

the throne room ☾

i never make gifs or animations tbh but this one just wouldnt have felt complete without the flickering :D still image under the cut (and also the lines cause i do. like how those turned out lol)

Keep reading

[idyllicnightmare69]

[idyllicnightmare69]

comic update; on patreon

[idyllicnightmare69]

Like Daisies Like Mother

Whenever someone would ask me what my favourite flower was.

I’d respond with a

I don’t have one.

But now, to view the tranquil petals of such darling white daisies,

raising their heads higher than the glass vase could go.

I will announce my passion for daisies – as how my mother does.

When I ask my mother why she loves them,

She proudly admits that they’re pretty

And there’s nothing more to it – no poetic verse that I can magic with my hands.

And I love her for that.

Old relatives and god-fearing acquaintances of my mothers’

say I look just like my mother, and my mother will laugh and humour them.

That is a white lie,

When I stroke my caricature-like face; all I can see is my dad’s eyes and his broad lips –

I cannot see my mother at all.

Her nonchalance and easy-going nature does not gleam from my high cheekbones.

All I can see is my father’s uncaring stare and his poised posture.

And the rest is just scattered remains of my growth – a mix between two separate beings

who had combined as one and created new life.

The thought makes me icky.

So - if I like the things that you do, will I finally resemble you from my own eyes?

Will it be so striking and obvious that I will be at peace?

The desire – the need to let you leave something behind when you walk up the stairs

to your God and saviour.

I will be that reminder of you. I will be that imprint, that small clone, that familiar piece.

But I will also be myself, unforgiving, relentless, and stubborn –

and I will either rise to the heavens with you and the God you treasure so much –

or my ashes will be spread across an undying daisy field while

my existence fades away so cruelly.

[idyllicnightmare69]

A poet's dream

My dream is to live in a house, with five rooms, a tiled kitchen filled with herbs, and a living room decorated in leather couches and dusted books. And a bathroom rinsed from its grit and stains once a month – like how one would wash a pet. And I dream for a pet to own, though I already have one.

Because I know that he will not survive when I am old enough to graduate from university.

My dream is to invite my friend to take refuge in my house, and she’ll sleep in the room next to mine – whose walls are hung with posters and vintage records and dried flowers tied with thin rope. And there'll be a square hole carved in the corner that connects our bedrooms, where we slip papers and drawings through for the other to see.

And I’ll sometimes sneak in a toy mouse, and she’ll nag me, and I’ll laugh.

My dream is to wake up every morning in striped, strawberry pyjamas, and to hurry down the carpeted stairs – which are consistently being vacuumed and cleansed – to make myself a cup of hot coffee and toast two bagels for her and me to laden with store-bought jam.

My dream is to live near a flower shop, a library, and a shop filled with stickers and tape and decorated stationery. And for a farmer’s market to be ten blocks down – where I can walk to, to buy our groceries and view the marvellous rooftops of apartments and small homes that are dusted with a litter of leaves and grit.

My dream is to have a mango tree growing in the backyard, and a small chicken coop with three chickens – all named after our favourite characters. And we’ll have glass cabinets for our old, broken phones and computers and drawing tablets.

My dream is to have enough money to keep my parents resting in their homes well-fed and happy. And to have bright skin, and dyed black and blonde (or green) hair, and the clothes that I wish to wear at this moment.

I dream to be happy, and to live in never ending solitude – with honest friends, and healthy parents who love each other and me, and friendly colleagues.

And I dream to be at peace, and when my final day comes, I will fall asleep with a smile as my last dream shows every single precious memory I’ve collected and lost through my years and my life.

[idyllicnightmare69]

Wings and eyes

The soft pads of my thumbs

leaves grease stains on the glowing screen.

A thin veil of discomfort - 

A word that strikes thunder,

and another - lightning.

Scars and stitches;

broken bones, hurt souls, wavering anger.

A carcass that carries

the unloved wings of an angel.

The other wears a hovering cape 

of darkness and watching eyes.

Puzzle pieces left untouched,

a trembling marriage and a cigarette.

Chain Smoking in the night -

and summer heat.

The rhythm game under my thumbs chime

a sound, and then another, and another.

I will distract you, the game sings,

I’ll keep you safe.

No you won’t, I whisper.

Curtains half-closed, dispelled frustration.

You liar.

[I wrote this on 2.2.2023 after a fight had sounded from my parents]

[idyllicnightmare69]

Pink Prison, a comic I did for my color theory class this semester! we had to pick a color, research it, and do a piece related to it somehow. i chose pink :)