Time has no meaning. I feel as if I have been left in the desert to die and am eagerly awaiting the vultures to begin their work and end my misery.

I'm an oddity of one, my strangeness too complicated to explain or share.

When the world moves forward too fast for some people, they try to pull us all back with their fear.

To live is to love, to love is to live.

I do not want to pass the time. I want to grab hold of it and leave my mark upon the world.

The dark does not weep for itself because there is no light. Rather, it accepts that it is the dark.

I feel like I swallowed a Magritte. Like on the inside, I'm made of clouds and floating eyes, green apples, and slowly rising men in bowler hats.