dementophobia

furnace troubles

In the reflection of your eyes I thought I saw myself someone who might be absolved, or redeemed. I realize now it is because both you and I were somewhat naïve. You do not know who I am, not truly, and I do not fault you for that because you never could, and I could never know you, not truly. All I will ever be to you is an image and perhaps a sensation. I am a phantom to you, and I am sorry that I ever stained your memory. But, having insufficiently begged for your forgiveness, I must now lament selfishly. Redemption does not exist. When I lay in the dirt that will be my grave, the silence of death will not have erased what horrible acts I have committed. No punishment will rob me of my sin nor will good deed relieve me of it. What am I to do, then? Walk into hell while lifting others into heaven? I will try. I will.

couldnt sleep, heres some doodles.

Depicted: A poor soul dreams of The First to Want, The First to Take.

Poverty of Mind

Will be not and without