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Description
On the scene sought to fester and to bleed, temptations and wantings - thoughts so dire pooling from between the cracks that composed those hollowed smiles, offered by eyes left vacant for all their lustings - as though the passageways to the inside revealed but a great, vast, cavernous space - a whole to which no amount of having nor gaining could ever hope to fill. Such was the hushed horror of living their lives as they were, chasing those phantoms - after those wraiths - to which they had given single names, one happiness the other content, never room enough, near enough, to quite catch them when fingers outstretched and grasping hands. For in the natures of their gaining, al they had already lost, wolfish grins hungering, needing, leaving no room for anything genteel nor soft. And on - on - the world beyond span, balanced, as it were, on finely woven strands - the blade, a finely tuned edge - catering souls been life and its willing partner, lady death. Son on the smoke thickened as though in want to conceal the sin, the darkness that shot through all that lingered here, in damnation for many, counting the rest - and adding, adding - adding to that lengthening list. Waiting for numbers, lettered names to be drawn, for with their lifestyles, their selves, surely it could not be long. For the greatest lottery prize was the shallowest grave - for calls never returned and debts left unpaid. The feel of that creeping expectation seemed to coat the air, turn it acrid with the knowing that in all of this the people - the gangs - were all so easily replaced. Interchangeable parts, were they, set to spin, tick - toil away - until they failed and another was forced in, placed. How far they could topple, knocked aside from precariously held positions - perches - the high places in which they had found themselves, such power at their expectant fingertips. Had they not bartered their way up underhanded, ill deeds constructed - orchestrated? So many tales that had allowed them to climb from the gutters, the dredges, and up - up - until they sat in places cast in scarlet hues and sold their time. For even murderers needed entertainment - glass bottle smiles - and in the company of thieves, who could tell the saints from the liars? Here they were gathered, for a moment in time, crowded in that space, and crooned, fawned over, giving not even a blink, no matter, to how superficial was the taste. People sought more comfort in their pretending, the closing of their eyes and the losing of their better scene - their better selves lost amongst the crime, the horror - the corruption of a system already rife with flaws.

Dear me it has been a long while since I have uploaded any content on here. As a good submission, here is the killjoy - and alternative universe dancer - David Blake (or Da-viid Blaake) / December who is from the mind of the exceptionally fabulous Sawnii - complete with harsh, dark colors - grunge textures - skeletons - and the hinting of blood. There is going to be another "clean" version of this piece, as due to the skeleton makeup and effects, a lot of the original skin tone and detailing on his eyes, as well as his lips, was lost. Though I don't know when I shall be getting such done, I shall upload it when I do.

I do not much get the opportunity, nor the time, to draw David here, and I really need to do such more - I find it rather fun, even if lately I am only able to sit down and have time to myself for a handful of hours sporadically during the day, and summer is chasing itself down the drain. The effects work, though quite a lot of work, enjoyable, to say the least - even if I somehow doubt that skeleton is correct. Cough.

For Sawnii, as ever - for all she does for me, and in return for her own amazing peice -

Enjoy.

xxx

David Blake/Daviid/December belongs to Sawnii
Artwork belongs to Me

Do not steal, use, ect.

Description
On the scene sought to fester and to bleed, temptations and wantings - thoughts so dire pooling from between the cracks that composed those hollowed smiles, offered by eyes left vacant for all their lustings - as though the passageways to the inside revealed but a great, vast, cavernous space - a whole to which no amount of having nor gaining could ever hope to fill. Such was the hushed horror of living their lives as they were, chasing those phantoms - after those wraiths - to which they had given single names, one happiness the other content, never room enough, near enough, to quite catch them when fingers outstretched and grasping hands. For in the natures of their gaining, al they had already lost, wolfish grins hungering, needing, leaving no room for anything genteel nor soft. And on - on - the world beyond span, balanced, as it were, on finely woven strands - the blade, a finely tuned edge - catering souls been life and its willing partner, lady death. Son on the smoke thickened as though in want to conceal the sin, the darkness that shot through all that lingered here, in damnation for many, counting the rest - and adding, adding - adding to that lengthening list. Waiting for numbers, lettered names to be drawn, for with their lifestyles, their selves, surely it could not be long. For the greatest lottery prize was the shallowest grave - for calls never returned and debts left unpaid. The feel of that creeping expectation seemed to coat the air, turn it acrid with the knowing that in all of this the people - the gangs - were all so easily replaced. Interchangeable parts, were they, set to spin, tick - toil away - until they failed and another was forced in, placed. How far they could topple, knocked aside from precariously held positions - perches - the high places in which they had found themselves, such power at their expectant fingertips. Had they not bartered their way up underhanded, ill deeds constructed - orchestrated? So many tales that had allowed them to climb from the gutters, the dredges, and up - up - until they sat in places cast in scarlet hues and sold their time. For even murderers needed entertainment - glass bottle smiles - and in the company of thieves, who could tell the saints from the liars? Here they were gathered, for a moment in time, crowded in that space, and crooned, fawned over, giving not even a blink, no matter, to how superficial was the taste. People sought more comfort in their pretending, the closing of their eyes and the losing of their better scene - their better selves lost amongst the crime, the horror - the corruption of a system already rife with flaws.

Dear me it has been a long while since I have uploaded any content on here. As a good submission, here is the killjoy - and alternative universe dancer - David Blake (or Da-viid Blaake) / December who is from the mind of the exceptionally fabulous Sawnii - complete with harsh, dark colors - grunge textures - skeletons - and the hinting of blood. There is going to be another "clean" version of this piece, as due to the skeleton makeup and effects, a lot of the original skin tone and detailing on his eyes, as well as his lips, was lost. Though I don't know when I shall be getting such done, I shall upload it when I do.

I do not much get the opportunity, nor the time, to draw David here, and I really need to do such more - I find it rather fun, even if lately I am only able to sit down and have time to myself for a handful of hours sporadically during the day, and summer is chasing itself down the drain. The effects work, though quite a lot of work, enjoyable, to say the least - even if I somehow doubt that skeleton is correct. Cough.

For Sawnii, as ever - for all she does for me, and in return for her own amazing peice -

Enjoy.

xxx

David Blake/Daviid/December belongs to Sawnii
Artwork belongs to Me

Do not steal, use, ect.