All they do is take
Once upon a time
I was in love with a man
but he betrayed me.
He
took
my
chocolate
covered
pretzels.
Leaving me no choice
but to kill him.
Tag Archives: Humour
Then Again, Maybe Not
Writing about a friend…
I like the way
You coil in my bathtub
I like the way your smooth folds beckon
I like your scales
I like your pointed tail
I like your magma eyes
I like you
You are attractive
And I like what you are holding in your open palm
A gift for me.
Is that an apple?
Or is it
An awkward cousin crush?
Inktober – On Time comic, p2 (14) and Thank you card (13)
I’ve skipped some days of Inktober but I don’t care. Type B here. They say the type A plants the roses, the type B stops to smell them. In the same vein, it’s not about what you accomplish with the ink… it’s about sniffing it. *falls over*
Page 2 of On Time. See page 1 here.
Also, here’s a little thank you card I drew for a friend who gave us such a nice dinner I felt like we should be nice back.
We both have cats that eat our houseplants, so it seemed appropriate.
HAPPY MONDAY! ❤
Inktober – The Tragic Death of the Owl
This masterpiece is the result of a joint effort between Cowdog Creatives (https://peteycowdogcreatives.wordpress.com/) and myself.
Journal – Haggifying
I tried to draw for Inktober tonight but it was so abysmally bad, even I am giving myself a break. Mostly I’m just happy to still be able to talk, and breathe. It’s been an increasingly gross day. I’m watching this virus bloom in the warm culturing agent that is my body. My throat is closing up, a tiny series of trap doors, and with each one I lose another note to my voice. My coughs are coming more frequently now. Sometimes I have a sudden unpleasant awareness that I’m running out of air, drowning in my own fluids.
Why can’t colds leave as fast as they arrive?
Going for a walk with sick coworkers
K sounds like she has no nose
Uncharacteristically pepless.
H is physically weak
She nearly falls over trying to take a photo.
I cough and rasp my way through each sentence
But talk a lot more than usual.
Together we walk our fifteen minute break
Slowly
Cackling like old hags
Trying not to laugh too hard at ourselves
Lest we spur on another pulmonary problem.
“Flash forward thirty years,” I say,
“And this will be our constant reality.”
Let the healthy young men and women beware
The three plague sisters.
Flee from their slow, repulsive approach!
Sarah D. Silvey 