Metamorphoses: 4I sleep, and dream of my childhood. It is a faded memory, like light seen through deep water or the mark on paper of erased pencil lines. Upon waking, I cannot remember whom I was with in my dream, or where we were, or what we were doing. Only a residual emotion remains, and even that slips through my mind like sand held in cupped hands before I can put a name to it. Even unsure what it was, though, I weep from the potency of it.Metamorphoses: 4
They say that traumatising experiences make us into adults before the proper time, that they force us to mature too quickly. I wonder if that is tru
Metamorphoses: 3I am doomed to survive. I am a runner, too fast for dangers to catch hold of. Through the years, everyone that I love will fall behind me, will drop away and be taken, but I will live on. Days blend into weeks blend into years spent alone. One day, I will die, perhaps. Until then, I must continue to fight to outlive all that I care for; anything to avoid oblivion.Metamorphoses: 3
If I was sentimental, if I believed in some Hallmark fairyland heaven where my parents and my sister and my lover and my friends were waiting for me, maybe I wouldn’t fight to live. Maybe then I woul
Metamorphoses: 2There is no dignity in death, no nobility. To die for another is a useless act; if you die, you will not be able to appreciate their life. You gain nothing. Your death is the same as any other. The only honour that can come in death is being able to die human. Still, better to live human than to be snuffed out of existence for eternity. This life is all that we have. It is all that we ever have.Metamorphoses: 2
Last night I dreamt of fire. An explosion of flames, tongues of orange licking the dark night. I dreamt of running for my life, my feet pou
Metamorphoses: 1Last night, I dreamed I was changing. Trapped in a dark cocoon, I couldn’t see, but I could feel my skin bubbling, my form shifting. I woke tasting copper. A self-fulfilling prophecy, perhaps; if I don’t sleep at night, I won’t be alert during the day.Metamorphoses: 1
I worry that I’ve been growing less attentive. It’s been weeks since I’ve slept more than a few hours in a night. Even sleeping, I clutch my semi-automatic. I know my plan; if one of them comes after me, I shoot it. If more come and I can’t shoot them all, I need not worr
I didn't quite make it to nationals
Obsessed
--
Writing teaches us our mysteries. ~ Marie De L'Incarnation
--
"A bird may love a fish, but where would they make their home?"
This is the problem I face. I love fictional characters. I'm not fictional. What to do? It's a conundrum. T-T
--
Dr. Venture: Why is it every time I need to get somewhere, we get waylaid by jackassery?
---The Venture Bros.
Check my Scraps, for more stuff!
--
"A bird may love a fish, but where would they make their home?"
This is the problem I face. I love fictional characters. I'm not fictional. What to do? It's a conundrum. T-T
--
Dr. Venture: Why is it every time I need to get somewhere, we get waylaid by jackassery?
---The Venture Bros.
Check my Scraps, for more stuff!
CLICK HERE
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