There is a light within our soul that burns brighter than the sun. And we ignore it.

Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder. Most of my beholders are blind.

I want to douse myself in silver words and whisper away all rue.

After a breath and before another, there's plenty of time to rest.

LOOK AT MY BLOOD FLOWERS, BECAUSE I WRITE WITH A SERENE SHARP BLADE THAT SOOTHES. AS MUCH AS CUTS INTO THE DEEPEST PARTS OF MY SOUL.

Thoughts as warm as a silky summer rain, flowing over the edge of my soul's gentle.not tides returning them along the shoreline to laughing gulls.

Even dead fallen leaves go a long way with the wind before getting crushed.

All these mirrorscarnival distortionsof selves we never were.

We all have our safe places, where none are invited. They are lonely rooms full of the musk of memory. Sanctuary rather than adventure.