Funny thing, your brain, how it always functions on one level or another. How, even stuck in some sort of subconcious limbo, it works your lungs, your muscle twitches, your heart, in fact, in symphony with your heart, allowing it to feel love. Pain. Jealousy. Guilt. I wonder if it’s the same for people, lost in comas. Is there really such a thing

you fly until you crash two days two nights no sleep, no food, come down off the monster YOU CRASH REAL HARD

I was about six years old, still Daddy's little girl, even though Daddy couldn't care less about me. How could I expect any man every would?

Yeah, I know getting high isn't so smart. Ask me if I care.

Some people never find the right kind of love. You know, the kind that steals your breath away, like diving into snowmelt. The kind that jolts your heart, sets it beating apace, an anxious hiccuping of hummingbird wings

The wind kicks in stronger, branches clatter. Or maybe skeletons. Bones of abandonment. Ghosts that will never be.

Religion is for followers... Followers and puppets.