A poem

For this, and the ceasing of the wind, for the dark, And the sky's gift, the steady rain. To one another, our bodies' happiness. How in an afterlife we should hunger, thirst, And walk the many mansions of our Father's house, Either grieving for this or lying, quiet. Therefore, give us oblivion.

I think it funny that you are always trying to take my friends. Have them. The ones I have that are worth having are not that easily persuaded. The others? You may help yourself. Just remember, it isn't them. It's you. It isn't me. It's you.

I don't know why,
But I think I like you Fry.
You make me sigh...

I stared into the abyss and got back nothing. I stared into the mirror and got back nothing. I stared into my heart and got back nothing.