Your actions lead to consequences.

How could I forget?

The cold clutches of mother nature, a hard and unforgiving fate.

Yes, she’s dead.

Do you believe me? Do you believe me? Do you believe me? Do you believe me? Do you believe me? Do you believe me? Do you believe me? Do you believe me? Do you believe me? Do you believe me? Do you believe me? Do you believe me? Do you believe me? Do you belie...

do you know me? um

you place this glass in my hand

will i break? or guard?...

My hand finds its way back to the shallow pocket in the front of my jeans, pulling out yet another lemon flavored coughdrop. As I remove it from its white and blue wrapper, my breath burns my throat.

The wrapper joins the accumulation of others in my back pocket as I pop the drop into my mouth. Walking down the street, I can’t tell if that bitter taste is from the candy or this sickening worry ...

those _things_ are always loudest when i’m on the brink of sleep. i hear them through the grate of the window, the cold iron criss-cross pattern vibrating as they screech and scratch. one of them sticks a long and thorny finger through the inch-wide hole.

how many times before they learn? the creature tries to pull its finger back, too late. the hooked thorns, easy to stick in but impossible to ...

I’m often told that death is just another part of life. Another fragment, another puzzle piece, another brick in the wall.

“You can’t escape it!” they yell.

“You can’t hide from death!” they shriek.

I rest in the graveyard, gazing at her tombstone, those hateful, disgusting words carved in a rock slab, meant to label and describe her forever.

The people yell and claw at the gate behind me, ...

quarter-to-four and the rain had already started.

of course, it was merely a light sprinkle, but the forecast this morning said that it would only begin around five o’clock, and by then i had planned to be on the four-thirty train out of this hellhole.

the wind picked up, and i almost lost my hat several times as i marched down the streets of new york city towards grand central station. i watche...

what color is your soul?

well, if you were to take into account the whole

i think you’d think you’re out of your mind

or swishing your brain in a goldfish bowl

i guess your capacity is that of a mole.

what hue are you?

well, it’s definitely more than two

because your spirit’s color is not singular,

rather, a mash of them, hundreds, it’s true!

tens and thousands, purple, red, green, blue.

...

love, huh?

what a funny thing. the fact that you can enjoy the presence of something or someone to such an amount is.. interesting.

unrequited.

what’s the opinion on that?

look at the sun. she’s so _beautiful! _she’s so _bright! _how could you live without her?

i’m sure the moon agrees. look at him, he _shines_ because of her. he _glows_ because of her. look, he rotates around her, even i...

sometimes i wonder if we’ve been lied to

and the sky is really just a giant painting

and that plane isn’t actually moving

it’s simply pinned up there, tiny,

and the people are little stick figures

and if i could fly

i would soar higher and higher,

until my hands grazed the sky

and it’d be a giant watercolor canvas....

they say that you’re more spiritually open when you’re in a state between sleep and wakefulness. they say that if you are careless enough, if you’re in a place that allows.. other things, then you just _might_ be visited by someone you didn’t invite.

is what they say true? are these tales, passed orally from person to person, generation to generation, something to be really wary of?

you have to...