Once upon a time a boy lived happily with his parents in a comfortable house. Once upon a time a boy became an orphan and never saw his childhood home again. - He talked at ghosts and shadows and lies, for they never talked back...

Parody-response to "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love" by Christopher Marlowe.

Let's go to all the old places, you and I, you and I, and overwrite the shadows with warmth.

Makes Mention of Macbeth, a Monkey, and Music. (I wonder if all this is a re-enactment.) (Just how many people have felt these feelings and said these words?) (It's not impossible that all this has happened before - all by chance, by mere chance, just like how we fall in l—)

Hello, I am hungry. Can I eat you? Omnomnomnomnom...

I? You? He? She? It? Invisible blood gurgles down whose windpipe and submerges whose lungs? The wind is full of daggers tonight, daggers which taste like ice and like poison. A writing experiment? Funny how pronouns can make all the difference, sometimes.

But you can't just choose to be sane. OPPOSITE IS SAME MADNESS IS SANITY LIES ARE TRUTH? Your reality is your own. Too bad you have to share it. But who ever said you had to share? Featuring three men, one coin, and a game-show host who's out to kill you

—before he sleeps. He counts dead people every night before he sleeps, and clings to his memories of them. After all, the price of living forever is outliving everyone you've ever loved... and slowly-but-surely forgetting all you used to know about them.

There were two men in a boat. There was a man in the ice. Once upon a time, the man was a person. Once upon a time, the man had a name. But now, the man is a dead body. And now, the man's name is food. —The glacier loomed in disapproval, but was ignored.

A bored young man leant against the wall, with the rakish angle of his cap matching the dangerously amused quirk of his lips. — It was a sad waste of time. He could have been chatting up a cute girl or three during all that time he spent in the streets...

Name: Emily. Age: My age. Subject Last Seen Wearing: My face. Last Person Who Saw Subject: Me. Relationship with Subject: She is me. Suspicious Subjects/Signs: She's gone. Mode of Disappearance: She jumped off our see-saw and ran far, far away. Place of Event: Inside my head. Time of Event: I can't remember. Notes: Why won't you come back? I miss you.

but you use it anyway.

The air itself was his to control. The wind belonged to him now, and he belonged to the wind. Fly, fly, touch the sky, and smile a deadly-dangerous-delighted smile as you descend from the heavens. —Was he falling up or flying down? ...It didn't matter.

In the black ops, they teach you not to scream. And you will always remember, because there is no such thing as an ex-agent. - /This is what you learn. And this is what you will never forget./