thedragonmaster-tdm

[thedragonmaster-tdm]

[thedragonmaster-tdm]

im gonna do this thing where i post one poem a day except these poems have already been written and im just gonna schedule the posts so haha :3

[thedragonmaster-tdm]

let’s bring back presidential assassinations

[thedragonmaster-tdm]

This made me cry??? He’s so stupid

corm

[thedragonmaster-tdm]

Cis Het people seeing a visibly queer person but not knowing what to do to be polite is really funny sometimes.

[thedragonmaster-tdm]

[thedragonmaster-tdm]

[thedragonmaster-tdm]

[thedragonmaster-tdm]

Faded Reflections

Everyone calls me “creative” Everyone calls me “artistic” Just like how they call me “she” and not “he”. Though it’s like I’ve forgotten how it feels to be me. There’s more in my brain. My sad, dull, creative pain. There’s more under my skin. And they throw it in the “artsy” bin.

A sweet sense of nostalgia, A bitter gush of regret. even in doubt, I stand taller. I think I'm drowning in debt.

Treat as you're treated, treat as you wish to be. Whisper with lies, get hunt down with eyes.

If they strike, I strike back. Like a match, seething rage feeding flames. Silence may speak volumes, but mine only whispers. breathes rumours about envious agony. The me they try not to see. My true identity.

Can you remember? I can't remember. Will you remember? I won't remember. Do I remember? I don't remember.

I don't sob, I just cry. I guess I've already died inside. within my eyes, there’s still some light. I sometimes ignore it when it just feels right.

Though these words may be forced maybe they’re the absolute worst my words still have some semblance of thought complex words — it’s not all rot ...

It seems I’ve forgotten. How disappointing.

[thedragonmaster-tdm]

me when cute boys

[thedragonmaster-tdm]

I walk onto my verandah, the polished terracotta tiles not cold but not warm. I walk into the patch of sunlight shining on the wooden railing, the terracotta beneath my bare feet a stark, fiery contrast to the lukewarm tiles behind me. I stare out into my neighbourhood, at the houses dwarfed by ancient figs and aged eucalypts. I look down at the black, black water tanks, filled with reserves of rainwater that could preserve a drought-stricken village for a week. Out to the left is the forest. Filled with hundreds of thousands of screaming cicadas and singing crickets, all vying to be heard and known.

I stand, shoulders and head in the shade but body in the light, riddled with a horrible head cold that makes everything itchy and suffocating. But, here, in this beam of sunlight, it feels okay. Despite the terracotta seeping heat into the soles of my feet, and the illness writhing beneath the derma, I feel okay.

But… does it ever feel okay?

[thedragonmaster-tdm]

dont ask me what i bought on 15th February, 2025

[thedragonmaster-tdm]

DIE BITCH DIE

[thedragonmaster-tdm]

[thedragonmaster-tdm]

Dragon of Time

Finished piece

traditional version + speedpaint

@sodaa-enby

@svetofthenochi

[thedragonmaster-tdm]

HIII translated the 4koma with the ichigo thing THEY'RE GAY

some more of my twitter prsk foolery

[thedragonmaster-tdm]

mon ami tf does this say

tell me now french boy or i'll invade your house

Désarticulation des quatre derniers doigts et des métacarpes Jean-Baptiste Léveillé 1848