They showed up a little *wiggly* because it was raining and my mail person doesn’t care about me or my packages. But I just put them on a book and set my 10 pound binder of Pokemon cards on top of them for a couple hours. Problem solved!
@theskeletongames Thank you so so much for the extra Christmas sticker!! I love them all so much!
I have made my first poetaxart purchase! Thank you so much @theskeletongames they look amazing and I love them all! The bittybones are adorable and the kitty bitty bones are even cuter! Be it basic or bitty I love them all! Thank you thank you thank you!
Haven't drawn any bara Sans in a while so why not.
I had to draw Sans moving quickly so I settled on a sort of silly evil trot because it’s hard to imagine him running. Not quite running, not quite walking.
Sans utilizing the one weapon short people can use here…
Questionável emoção dentro de mim.
Crescente energia ao qual surgiu.
Flutuante pensamento do desejo
Ponho-me a ser sincera no sentir.
Adentro num novo aspecto de percepções,
Pura sensação de conforto em ti.
Almejo ser possuida pelo seu toque
E em meio seus olhos mergulhar.
Vivo hoje a existir unicamente dual,
Ao tempo intenso ao qual pudermos estar.
Delirante essência que me conquista .
Sutil alegria de compreender tua alma.
Amo entender suas complexas camadas
Aos quais me inebrio e fascino.
Que nosso mundo não degrade agora,
Para que venhamos em estações caminhar.
The tickle in my fingertips; the shout in my head.
the franticness with which I look for the paper.
Anything that can catch the fleeting thought.
The maniac inside comes alive
as if a switch has been aligned:
write, write, write.
As if leaving the thought
will make a piece of me disappear.
A caterpillar lurking around long enough,
its chrysalis already formed,
breaking into a butterfly
running to be lost in the wilderness
never to be seen again.
Write, write, write.
And when my fingers cannot keep up
with the stumbling words inside,
words too slow for the sensations inside my chest.
The trembling of my hands; spinning in my head.
Looking desperately as the butterfly flies away.
Net ripping and tangling at every tree and turn.
Write, write, write.
The desperation and joy, as if there’s no middle point.
Words bleeding into the paper as the wind cuts
for the butterfly’s wings can cause a typhoon.
--------
Escribe, escribe, escribe.
El cosquilleo en la punta de mis dedos; el grito en mi cabeza.
el frenesí con el que busco el papel.
Cualquier cosa que pueda atrapar el pensamiento fugaz.
La maníaca interior cobra vida
como si se hubiera alineado un interruptor:
escribir, escribir, escribir.
Como si dejar el pensamiento ir
hará desaparecer un pedazo de mí.
Una oruga al acecho el tiempo suficiente,
su crisálida ya formada,
convirtiéndose en una mariposa
corriendo para perderse en el desierto
para nunca ser vista otra vez.
Escribe, escribe, escribe.
Y cuando mis dedos no pueden seguir el ritmo
de las palabras tropezando en el interior,
palabras demasiado lentas para las sensaciones dentro de mi pecho.
el temblor de mis manos; dando vueltas en mi cabeza.
Mirando desesperadamente como la mariposa se va volando.
Red rasgando y enredando en cada árbol y vuelta.
Escribe, escribe, escribe.
La desesperación y la alegría, como si no hubiera un punto medio.
Palabras sangrando en el papel mientras el viento corta
porque las alas de la mariposa pueden causar un tifón.