Open your eyes, and see them look at you. Uncover your ears, and hear all the gripe. Sniff...and smell the flowers.

I hate this place.

Just breathing is a gift. And we've been given so many.
They are ofen seen as blessings.

Sometimes, one forgets the number.

Even when you close your eyes against the world, the light still comes through.

The quiet man. Don't give him too much power. He won't be quiet anymore.

When you hold that knife, make sure
the blade faces....away. You wouldn't want
to cut your own throat.

This love we make, full of warmth, full of passion. This love we make, born of want and wishes. This love we make, causing anger and hate, tearing our worlds apart. This love we make, to want so much of, or to be so rid of