Don't try thinking about who you were. Don't try thinking about who you are. Don't try thinking about who you will be.   None of those versions of yourself were fixed,are fixed or ever will be fixed.   And by the time you finish reading...

I love you… You don't love me… You will never love me… You will never love me again…   And again I hold your pictures… And again I dream of the old times… When our hands shared the other tenderly… When our lips were thawed of that...

as an unwitting participant in the undercurrent of darknessaffecting things great and smallmaneuvering the aether with a kissspiraling thoughts become worldsan act so small as a whisper can alter thingscause chaos in the grander scheme of thingsso I utter...

I cuddled up witha metaphor that wascaught in the corner ofmy room.I dressed it in thesilk of kings, and fedit from the fracturedtrees of innocence.Low-hanging fruit ofdespair gets usevery time.

Black wings that flutter through stormy sunshine. That storm within… with the sun glowing through black clouds that gathered over my eyes… Bright enough to penetrate into the dark of my soul… This storm and sun intertwined, ebony silhouette of the raven soaring through...