Dreams Of Ink

I'm scared of a lot of things. I'm scared of the ocean, I'm scared of lifelike dolls, I'm scared of the dark, I'm scared of broom closets. When I'm scared of something, I tend to avoid it. Like any normal person, I'm not really interested in "facing my fears" or doing anything particularly heroic. So, I avoid the ocean, I avoid doll sections in toy stores, I try to sleep before dark, and I always walk quickly past broom closets. It's always been easy. Just walk away from your fears, and everything will turn out okay. My fears themselves aren't that scary if I reassure myself like this. What's scary is if I one day find a fear that I can't just turn away from. ... As I grow older, I'll start to understand little things that confused me when I was younger. I have this clear memory of a day in first grade, where our teacher was explaining fire and lockdown drills to us. She was smiling, she was relaxed, and sh...

All I can see is the ocean’s horizon and I’m the only girl in the sea The harder I try to stay afloat the more I get caught in the currents My friends float farther and farther away and I’m stuck here on the sand This beach stretches for miles and miles without a single soul on land The passing ships blare with music Those party boats don’t stop by Lonely Beach, population: me ... ... ... I can’t let my hair down I’m not like everyone else I won’t let the current pull me in but I once found a couple of friends Soon, the party boat stopped by and I wasn’t good enough for them Now I trace portraits in the sand of myself and what I can remember of a life filled with others and brothers and lovers But now I’m stuck on Lonely Beach Population: me ... ... ... Filled with the empty sound of the waves and myself If I squint hard enough I can see far enough to the Isle of Despair There seems to be another figure standing on those desperate banks but I’m too lone...

"If you were to run far, far away from everything, until city streets turned to rocky paths, until the smoke-filled, polluted world turned to an infinity of clear blue skies, you might run into a small town. You, a city-person, might look at the little houses, and smell the scent of the world, a mix of grassy plains, wood, and honey, and think to yourself: What a beautiful place. "And you wouldn't be wrong. The peaceful, small village, long since abandoned by the world, is such a glaring, refreshing contrast from the world you're used to, I suppose. It's quiet here.  "I guess I've just never liked the quiet."  An outstretched hand reaches out towards the night sky. It clenches into a fist, and jerks away, as if trying to rip the sky away. The sudden movement shifts the wooden planks below her, and her breath catches in her throat: a natural involuntary reaction, she insists. Quickly, she calms down. Her heart is thumping, though she ...