

Dead EndThere is nothing left to write, she wrote. Her head was high, her mind was clear; Yet shook she as a skittish goat When the manxome butcher comes near.Dead End
There's nothing more to write, she wrote.
No words are left to tell. There's nothing but nothing, but void and mote- Her heart is beating very well.


The Funniest Thing Is that I don't even care anymore. Every day, every minute, is a gift. Every second in a minute in an hour in a day Is a gift God-sent, but blessed by Mr. Lucifer Godbless'imtoo.The Funniest Thing
My body sometimes wakes at night:
Sweat-broken, unable to sleep. The body saves itself from damned blight I do not want to wake, yet I will.
In these nights
The heart beats rough on bones, the lungs- distilled Almost forget how to collapse, How to heave, and heave, and


Burning BridgesThey burned the village down A year ago, it was long before your time. The ashes fled (I remember it still) Like great grey ants on the small green hills Covering them with frosty brown.Burning Bridges
They burned the village three years ago- but in my mind it burns still.
I wish there was
Some way to go Back to the village, back to those hills.


stasisto be invisible, one must know the deepest, most heartfelt chasms of the soul. One must know emptiness gradients the whole and is part of it.stasis
One must be aware that all is aware: beware, be very aware.
but for each price there is a prize, a hole
fulfilled, though previously there was none.
And that, indeed, the point.
I think of this as we two intermingle, my void and your void -O dear reader who invokes these words and their meaning- As we both struggle to create Something more than a void.
--
you didn't know you were my best friend? yeah! you like me a lot! X3
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