look at this hole found in the ground. so dark and deep without a sound. beholder beware and not fall in. nor walk towards it nor let it win. it will entice you you may feel safe, but it is deception and dark, empty space.
how can one succeed when you look in the mirror and like not what you see? is there no rest for those who run after that which is less? if i could remove the part that does lack what would become of a heart that turned black? and is there a way to turn back the clock and somehow regain that which is lost?
the house it burns around me, the carpets and the walls. the curtains fall and crumple, and melt upon the floor. the smoke it swirls around me, and quickly fills my lungs. but i forget to notice and remain within the room. i stand arranging flowers to make the room look nice. the house it is still burning, the pain cuts like a knife. i feel the heat envelop and burn against my skin. but i must arrange these flowers, to them i am akin.
perceiving a lake in the distance obscured within a knotted forest. the path, at first, appeared quite hidden and the lake beyond my clasp. so profound were those waters - the glass surface glistened and shone, but underneath was murky, i faltered: what hidden bodies would i unearth? the sylvan setting seemed hospitable and concealed my lake from view. my arms they bled from wading branches and following the path i knew. determined was i to swim those waters, pushing until i could break through.
THE LONELY WHITE WOLF 