A flower of imperfection, I am, waning with the passing seasons.   Springtime flowerets budding to summertime flowering.   This fall time senescence to wintertime death.   Black flower of psychosis, withering in bloom and beauty withering.   The season of fresh hallucinations is indeed upon me!

Ahoy! There she is! In formal times, gracefully gliding across the glassy sea. Her figure so stout and proud. On a voyage so resolute, unwavering against the coming storms and serpents of the deep blue sea. Her sails swelled by the gift of...

I hold dear the distant glow of happiness and I’m drawn to it like a moth attracted to light.