Samurai Cartoon (Pink on Black)

The shirt is black, a void, like the kind of darkness that follows you home. The cotton feels like an apology in fabric form—soft enough to make you think you're being forgiven, but thin enough to remind you nothing ever really stays hidden.

A cartoon samurai stands alone, his armor jagged and wrong, too sharp at the edges, his eyes hollowed out like sockets that never blink. His katana is lowered, but not in defeat—more like a warning, the blade too clean, too precise, like it’s waiting for something to bleed. The smile beneath the mask isn’t friendly; it’s hungry. The kind of hunger that never gets fed.

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