In other news, not much to report. I don't know what to draw. Gimme some suggestions.


Vol. IVIt's been a year. There's snow on the air, the metal taste of cold, and what light there is is pale and thin and reminiscent of you. Everything is reminiscent of you.Vol. IV
And suddenly, it's last winter, and I wait for you beneath the glare of the streetlight, and watch my breath. Catch my breath, steal it, keep it from me until my vision fades and the light flares, bright like a final whiplash, the last shuddering exhalation before dawn breaks and it's over again. My breath on the air, and muffled footsteps in the snow, and you, and the universe that never looked twice at you or me or what little of us there was.
On The Edge
In The Woods
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An Irishman has an abiding sense of tragedy that sustains him through temporary bouts of joy.
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"Your freedom's not free, it's just loose."
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'...for the eyeing of my scars there is a charge...'
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Many people think that the world is against them. But it\'s the other way around for me. It\'s me against the world... and I\'m going to kick its ass. >:3 ~From my story The Unexpected or The Unaccepted
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"Your freedom's not free, it's just loose."
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"Your freedom's not free, it's just loose."
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