Isilvar

It's Valentines Day and we're both alone, We've said we'll celebrate when we can, I want to call you, though I've not got a phone. I'm sorry I'm not there, if I could I'd be there in a zam. Yes I rhymed zam with can, deal with it, don't moan. All jokes aside, If I could, I'd spend the day just holding you. I'd stoke your hair or hold your hand, or maybe just fall asleep. I know that sometimes it's a thing I do, Thank you for never telling me off, never a peep. I'd tell you you're gorgeous and make you blush, You'd hit me with a pillow, or hide your face. Yes it's true that I love when you flush, But know I only say it because it's

Sometimes, after emerging from the soapy depths of the shower I will examine myself in a full length mirror and think, "God damn, I would".

Sometimes I do not wish to sleep because I know I will have to get up the next morning and make it though another day.

Ca'ntSleep dontwant tosleep.caNtmake mesleepdontwantTOsleep stIllseeitther.eLightisonbutitisthere Notsupposssedtohappenlightis on now cant sleep

He stood before the beast, unflinching as it snaked its way across the gravel to reach him. The Speaker never was one to turn away from a fight, especially with something such as this, a Ghoul, out of The Water. I and our other companion took a step back; it was not our place to deny The Speaker a challenge or a battle. The Ghoul  twisted, circling around him, the tail of the thing coming out into focus, revealing the large, crushing claw at the end of it, snapping uncontrollably. The Speaker merely continued to stand, brushing some dirt off of his long, dark brown coat; he even paused to stretch, not even seeming to heed the monster circli

The Hut stood upon the far shore of the lake, ramshackle and foreboding, the waves lapped upon the shore, only inches away from the back door of the place. The front door lay on the ground, the hinges broken, splintered in the doorway. A figure stood, hunched in the shadows, not moving. We approached without fear of the shadowed being, the gravel crunching beneath our feet, until it moved. Almost gracefully, the bowed shape approached the ruined entrance, soon revealing it to be a short, hunchbacked crone, for lack of a better word.   We were not cautious when we stepped towards the woman. We did not consider the risks of it, despite all