#indigo sanchez

[parasealz]

first post ever and it has to be my boy indigo. he's one of my kevin spencer oc's,even tho he lives near to kevin and spend most time together they're always fighting over the the smallest things EVER. but they like eachother from time to time.

[b0dyb0n3s]

indigo and matt butbut demon x priest au . . . oh i love them so much

INDIGO BELONGS TO MY DAD @parasealz 🥹

[parasealz]

halloween party 20XX.

— indigo and matt won best couple costume at the party.

hii!! drew this art of adult indigo and adult mad dresses up as the frankenhooker characters. ^_^

matt belongs to @b0dyb0n3s !

—

made a tag for indigo in case anyone is interested on seeing more of him and his lore i'll be dropping soon. :o)

[renaissanceofspring-blog]

Dissonance

Screaming though the melting bars And sawdust. A sable boy chokes on the splinters That claw at the soft of his throat as ravens. Clawing red. Clawing nerves that seer invisibly. He has trouble breathing; Moving, Leaving the birds behind. "I will love you as you are. I want to be the light you always needed. I want to be that luminescent variable." He screams through the halls in her head And she questions his relentless drive And her's for the oddness of the dream itself. For the touch. The brushing of hands and lips Upon lips. Upon softly bruised Crazed sins. His splinters catch his mind but she is numb. The sacredness of a newfound argument Against her need to hate.  She couldn't wrap a thought Around his low soothing voice Slow-choking as an evening of dishonest promises. "Soon. Soon." But he deserves every liquid-iron burn From his self-inflicted prison;  Every prick of splintered oxygen. She knows. She thinks. She turns, But she tells herself what she cannot accept: The dream is but a simple drift. The ravens are not there. And the sable boy-- Too late For even empty redemption Yet receives and incinerates all she can give And that is love.

[renaissanceofspring-blog]

Note To A Lover

Let me be your waking dream.  The ghost that pulls away The fear of your tortured yesterdays  And tentative plans For an uncertain future. I'll bring you new light.  A glow that teaches you the kind of strength That lasts over lifetimes  So your futures are bright.  So your past is weightless. So your fears are a drifting dream. And the tempo of life's unlimited song Is nothing to fear or regret, my dear But a tune you sing to Clear and proud All fearlessly yours; A newfound anthem. © Indigo Sanchez 

[renaissanceofspring-blog]

Before The Levitation

She’s become numb to the intricacies of the observable; of the tangible. Her slender wrists hold a slender tempo, keeping time with a biological metronome that she wants to stop ticking and ticking and ticking. The ticking stresses her weary head. The ticking makes her crazy. The ticking only whittles her down with rough, steady hands; seamless, effortless, hasty; her foundation being that of soft Conifer.  She lightly wears a silver cross around her neck, flexing with every involuntary breath and tired turn. But she’s not aware of the weight that cross bears on my psyche; unaware of the barrier set in my mind because of a symbol that I know means little to her in any founding sense. The cross is thoughtless; a habit placed behind the back-burners of her conscience as a safety net, and I am keenly aware of my own discomfort. I am fearful of what words I’ll wound her with because her opinions are frail and easily crushed. I am of stone. I cannot feel for the fragile. I stay away. Ignore her calls. Don’t waste my time. Can’t waste my time; too busy. Can’t stay. But I’m not sorry. And now she moves, but she is cold. She speaks, but only just. She observes, and she collects her thoughts for no one in particular and leaves her words on the kitchen table; out of mind in a harsh finality she intends on making a reality by her own stained, crimson will. She returns to her room and looks at all the familiar things: the posters, the books, the music, the letters. She remembers painting the walls blue and rearranging the furniture late last Spring. She recalls the hours spent studying and reading about the dead intellectuals she wishes she could meet; the times when she was driven to write her mind after a long day; the countless nights spent in the same bed in the same position with the same thoughts before a restless sleep washed over her. But today the blue room was only a small space amongst many possible spaces and many more stretching in her head in an infinite hallway; every room-- blue. She even goes as far as convincing herself it is no longer her's, just a worn-out space once occupied by the hazy recollection of a stranger; a fabricated memory of a child faintly remembered, like an old photograph. Now she finds herself walking in a daze as the fingers of an odd, waking paralysis close her eyes and relieve her of all thoughts and senses.  The cross holds no more value to her than a piece of metal.  The ticking has chipped her down to mere splinters. The window is open.   The window is gone.  © Indigo Sanchez

[sierrasanchez-art-blog]

A Cruel Sense of Humor

Some people think I'm an asshole. I couldn't agree more. Sometimes I say my opinion without considering the others around me. I know. Sometimes I do things that don't seem fair to others or even seem self-serving and selfish. I know. Sometimes I express my contradicting opinions not only to voice my mind but to stir up and challenge the crowd to see what happens. I know. I think it's fun to see people squirm in discomfort because someone has finally challenged their founding beliefs; the same founding beliefs they don't know why they believe in, and I find it hilarious.  But they don't. They think I'm just doing it to challenge them, and sometimes they're right. They think I'm just bigoted and hard-headed, and sometimes they're right. They think I'm just doing it to seem smart and to pick at them, and sometimes they're right. But in the end, wouldn't it be better to have a reason to believe in something rather than closing their eyes and feeling along the one-way rope their parents showed them when they don't have to? I think it's hilarious because I used to be one of those people. And to see their faces when they have nothing more to defend themselves is great because I know they'll be thinking about it from then on.   Maybe I've broadened a couple horizons. Maybe I've planted a seed of doubt they'll carry for a while. But I prefer to think that I was the first to open their eyes to different views.  I prefer to think I gave them their first taste of free, open thought.   So if some think I'm an asshole I won't think twice because those people are nothing to me; I already know I'm a dick with a cruel sense of humor, I don't need to be reminded. However, if someone is willing to have an intellectual conversation, I'll value the time we share because intelligent conversations are hard to come by in high school. But something even harder to find is both an open mind and a strong personality, so of course no one's going to like me when I force open their minds and stuff a few new foreign thoughts in their heads. No one likes a force of change. And in parallel, no one likes a strong opposing opinion. But I don't mind. I only care enough to wonder if it ever did anyone any good.  Because in the end, I can either be the catalyst of a change in one's thought or an ass with a cruel sense of humor. It's all up to them. © Indigo Sanchez 

[renaissanceofspring-blog]

Oh Jeez.

If there's anything in the world I never want to hear about again it's someone's insecurities and how they feel about them or can't do anything to help themselves. I'm not saying that I'll stop listening to my friends or anybody's problems, because there's really not enough people that listen and too many that need a listener. I'm just tired of the same people thinking they're so alone in their personal conflicts when they have friends there that can help and relate. It's almost like these people want to be helpless or at least seem like it, and I'm tired of it all because nothing will ever happen when they just sit and whine all day. Of course their lives seem so shitty in their eyes. They're waist-deep in their own problems with no distractions or outlets. Maybe they do it on purpose, maybe not, but whether or not they're intentionally ignorant of their own salvation is a deal-maker/breaker in a friendship for me. The thing is, there are almost always options for solving your own problems, but if none seem appropriate or apparent, there's always distractions and outlets to help it pass. The people that are simply oblivious of their options are the ones that will always be scared. And personally I don't want to waste my time consoling the ignorant, and I don't know why anyone else would ever want to. Once again, I'm not trying to be mean, I'm just reflecting on what, for some reason, seems to be a popular thing now. Weakness is never attractive. Immaturity in adult situations is never welcome. Ignorance of the answers to one's problems is never respected. I'm just confused as to why people exhibit that kind of quality about them when it's such a negative characteristic; when it brings neither respect nor any real personal gain to that individual concerning a build in confidence, self-respect, self esteem or maturity.   I guess some are just too weak to do anything, even for themselves. Or people are just strange and like to waste my time, haha. Probably both, unfortunately.