When I can't sleep, I dream.

There sits an ugly man. At first I don't know it because it's incredibly dark. We talk as if we're friends. The couch is comfy. And then he laughs, and the light comes on. All I can see is his hideous, sweaty, pimpled face. He shoves me off to a room of my own for the night. In it, I find bunk beds and a cozy children's environment. The little girls are sleeping, and I find a spot on the floor with a fleece blanket. In the morning, I wake with fear to do his bidding. If I don't, my life is lost. I've had this dream before; sent to bring back the feast for this killer. This time, we find dolls. He shouts with laughter as he rips their heads off and and throws them at the window of an elementary school. Does he thrive on making everyone around him very, very afraid? I stand there, throwing the heads of plastic dolls. They land on the ledge of the building and stay there, piling up as he laughs all the more. When we've ripped to shreds every last doll, I know instinctively I can safely go. For now. I begin to walk quickly down a high dock. It's wooden and old, with a gate that gets stuck. I can't help but run from this man, and he follows me slowly, singing to me. I squeeze through the small opening in the gate and down the stairs. I'm afraid of heights, and terrified to fall, but if he touches me I know I'm done. I reach the grassy ground and I run full force... until I hit a metal wall, look up at his cloaked wickedness, and dash off into the distance. I run and run and run. Then I wake, and see him in the corner of my room. My breath is fierce, and well, I'm terrified. I feel like a small child as I wrap the covers around my head and pray to God that he doesn't exist. All I can do is speak the name of Jesus. "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus..."

I'm not a morbid person. Why are my dreams so haunting? I have no control, and I don't want to believe that my sweet Lord allows these dreams to happen.

I don't feel like being obvious tonight.

Would you pass me that thimble, then sit for a while perhaps?
Such pretty blossoms hanging there.
I'd like a squnch beneath them, please.

I used to envy Pan the Man.
Now I wish I was in a house, stirring a pot. Or something.
MY house. I want my house. My own.
Pan never had one.

Blue feelings fill me at this moment.
Perplexed. Utterly.
And now my mind is filled with the "Jabberwocky."
Supposedly his head went gallumping...?
Anyway, that's all a tale and a wish to be forever young.

I feel young.
Sad thing is that now, after all this time...
I can't seem to find that dream.
I can't seem to find myself.
What does it all mean, anyway?

There's a him and a her.
Can't be him and her.
Just a him and a her.
I guess that's why I'm covered in blue.

Send me off and away to the sand.
And a breeze that messes up my hair.

Without saying "I love you"

I care. Deeply. And I want you to know that I'm willing to be that embrace that catches your fall. I can't wipe away the rotten circumstances, and I can't keep you from crying... but I can encourage you to run with all your might toward the One who can. I can't be much of anything. Only an ear to listen. Your words are important, so don't lock them up. I don't have the key either, so you'll have to slowly spill them. As they spill, I'll scoop them up and hold them closely... they won't be lost. I'll keep them safe.

When the happiness radiates through your pores, I want to be there to see it.

Are You Jealous of These Yellow Walls?

He's right in the middle.

She said she's perfectly warm.

And comfortable.

And cozy.

He wants to bring her something.

Very badly, I guess.

He dotes to win.

But she's as tough as they come.

A pleasant looking face.

Against the wall.

And around the corner.

He wants nothing less.

Clearly it's a lost battle.

Not uphill, just lost.

And sad, so sad.

Except for the walls in the room.

They were all yellow.