With a ring around the rosary
And a pocket full of crosses
Ashes to ashes
They'll all fall down

I don’t think that I’ve been in love as such
Although I liked a few folk pretty well
Love must be vaster than my smiles or touch
for brave men died and empires rose and fell
For love, girls follow boys to foreign lands
and men have followed women into hell
In plays and poems someone understands
there’s something makes us more than blood and bone
and more than biological demands
For me love’s like the wind, unseen, unknown
I see the trees are bending where it’s been
I know that it leaves wreckage where it’s blown
I really don’t know what "I love you" means
I think it means "don’t leave me here alone

Linear’s defeated form
The intangible reality rise.'' ~ Wanderer

Do you remember the sight we saw, my soul,
that soft summer morning
round a turning in the path,
the disgusting carcass on a bed scattered with stones,
its legs in the air like a woman in need
burning its wedding poisons
like a fountain with its rhythmic sobs,
I could hear it clearly flowing with a long murmuring sound,
but I touch my body in vain to find the wound.
I am the vampire of my own heart,
one of the great outcasts condemned to eternal laughter
who can no longer smile.
Am I dead?
I must be dead.

Alone. Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym.

Edward smiled, I smiled, even Bernardo smiled. Olaf just looked sinister.