

Lines of Empathy -Finished.A gorgeous restaurant alive with colour, simple tones and something more, something like the autumn air all around guiding whispers to my ears as I satLines of Empathy -Finished.
As I sat to hear the music play and the chorus rhyme I sat inside myself, I sat in suspension patient of the empty spinning facade of echoes spinning through my mind
Asking them to my meaning and to their memories Antique chords playing violin concertos Impressions left in the polished floorboards Immersed in the heavy wet thickened air
In this vacant little paradise, phantoms are holding on In t


The Terror Of The NightIn the shadows I hide.The Terror Of The Night
I know I shouldn’t be doing this but it is too much fun. I love to see their faces when I leap out from behind something and scare them half to death. I resist the urge to release a snigger that would give my position away. They’re moving around the room slowly. He’s got his sister over again, must have gotten dumped by his girlfriend. This is going to be so funny. I crouch into a smaller ball. The timing has to be perfect. I must do this right the first time because I’ll not get a second chance. He’s coming by again, I reposition myself slightly. He looks really depressed. Maybe I shouldn’t do this.
Darn,


DreamI am Dream. I am of the convoluted meanderings of an abstract mind. And I am Dream. I see the dreams of the old and the dreams of the young, I watch, I observe their private obsessions, the ones they would never admit, not even to themselves.Dream
I see their doubts and insecurities that they hide from the world as they present to it a poised mask that they hope none shall crack. A young girl surrounded by people, who never look beyond the masks they each wear, hopes for a friend to see the one, hiding behind her scars. A middle-aged businessman with little hope for his future plays out his fantasy for freedom
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Feel The Wrath.
Wooo .
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Neutral nothings notice nonchalance, nodding nominally.
Or others opting out of opinionated oracles orchestrating our opus.
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Neutral nothings notice nonchalance, nodding nominally.
Or others opting out of opinionated oracles orchestrating our opus.
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