seems like a solemn protestation. Like a man at his death who wants it, looks fiercly at the pointed gun, who wants it, but solemnly protestes it by biting the barrel.

Fyodor

this one, too, is beautiful. simply so, and almost blandly so. your work is so particular, i know none like it. it draws me into its own world when i read it. you weave such a spell

painful-

but the good kind, the kind that makes you want to be hurt, because it makes you real, you know?

ach, i don't want to sound like some dimestore philosopher (hell, that's pretty much what i am tho'). i love your poetry. it's in parts dark and light, all wonderful, very wonderful.

would you like to see my work? i would love it more than anything.

agonizingly beautiful.

"drowning in the absence of colour" wonderful!
i often have dreams of drowning in pools of color, and i find the negative image equally as stunning, if not more so stirring.

you similies and simplicity are fantastic.

painfully delightful.