Isaac Marion

...wanting change is step one, but step two is taking it.

There is no ideal world for you to wait around for. The world is always just what it is now, and it's up to you how you respond to it.

There__ not really such thing as __ood_ or __ad_ people, there__ just like_humanity. And it gets broken sometimes.

I'd like to sit down with him and pick his brain, just a tiny bite somewhere in the frontal lobe to get a taste of his thoughts" -Warm Bodies

Is this muteness a real physical handicap? One of the many symptoms of being Dead?Or do we just have nothing left to say?

I think I remember what love was like before. There were complex emotional and biological factors. We had elaborate tests to pass, connections to forge, ups and downs and tears and whirlwinds. It was an ordeal, an exercise in agony, but it was alive. The new love is simpler. Easier. But small.

The burning red taste of blood floods my mouth. The sparkle of life sprays out of his cells like citrus mist from an orange peel, and I suck it in.

She hugs me. It's tentative at first, a little scared, and yes, a little repulsed, but then she melts into it. She rests her head against my cold neck and embraces me. Unable to believer what's happening, I put my arm around her and just hold her.I almost swear I can feel my heart thumping. But it must just be hers, pressed tightly against my chest.

I feel the flatline of my existence disrupting, forming heartbeat hills and valleys

How do I appear unthreatening when her lover's blood is running down my chin?

I would like my life to be a movie so I could cut to a montage.

Are we all just Dark Age doctors, swearing by our leeches? We crave a greater science. We want to be proven wrong.

Soft flesh is eaten by hard teeth.

I'm watching her talk. Watching her jaw move and collecting her words one by one as they spill from her lips. I don't deserve them. Her warm memories. I'd like to paint them over the bare plaster walls of my soul, but everything I paint seems to peel.

I erupt from the dark, crushing tunnel into a flash of light and noise. A new kind of air surrounds me, dry and cold, as they wipe the last smears of home off my skin. I feel a sharp pain as they snip something, and suddenly I am less. I am no one but myself, tiny and feeble and utterly alone. I am lifted and swungthrough great heights across yawning distances, and given to Her. She wraps around me, so much bigger and softer than I ever imagined from inside,and I strain my eyes open. I see Her. She is immense, cosmic. She is the world. The world smiles down on me, and when She speaks it__ the voice of God, vast and resonant with meaning, but words unknowable, ringing gibberish in my blank white mind.

I want to change my punctuation. I long for exclamation marks, but I'm drowning in ellipses.

Maybe eventually winter will finish our job for us and end the world in ice instead of blood.

She remembers sprinting over the thin after-waves that slid over each other like sheets of glass. When she ran with the waves it looked like she wasn__ moving. When she ran against them it looked like she was flying. She refuses to believe her brother will never know these things. Somewhere, they will find sand.