Just keep on shining that light. The rest will take care of itself.

In fact, since the accident, Mom doesn't love anyone. She is marble. Beautiful. Frigid. Easily stained by her family. What's left of us anyway. We are corpses. At first, we sought rebirth. But resurrection devoid of her love has made us zombies. We get up every morning, skip breakfast, hurry off to work or school. For in those other places, we are more at home. And sometimes we stagger beneath the weight of grief, the immensity of aloneness.

She's no longer afraid to die. What she's afraid of is living, accepting the status quo.

So you want to know all about me. Who I am. What chance meeting of brush and canvas painted the face you see? What made me despise the girl in the mirror enough to transform her,turn her to into a stranger, only not. So you want to hear the whole story. Why I swerved off the high road, hard left to nowhere, recklessly indifferent to those coughing my dust, picked up speed no limits,no top end, just a high velocity rush to madness.

I write poetry anyway and have for years and years. For me, putting fiction and poetry together is like the best of both worlds.

I'd sleep outside naked in the blizzard,for you.

My priest tells me i should not date a mormon but im just too in love with you that i'm willing to take risks