my careless contagion

She has eyes that have captured my soul her fingertips trace my bones like they are her home when I wake I am alone and the world out there is still turning though my world is dead That girl knows sex is like dying a little be careful who you choose  to die with tonight you may never rise again When I think about her I see her as a painting painted in a happy moment by the saddest, deadest artist who swore he'd never paint again What he did with her is nothing short of a masterpiece nothing short of a miracle after heaven ran out of them she's perfect like that, though frozen in time When the lights go out tonight I'll see her again though like a dewy dream she'll evaporate again That girl knows sex is like dying a little she didn't want to die with me that's why I always painted her with her clothes on In the new morning's disappointment I'll remember her as I say my prayers and maybe she'll think of me ...

The future starts in our minds.  We have the most wonderful faculty between our ears — our imagination — that allows us to create, solve problems, and sometimes literally see into the future.  The future of me is a bleak prospect. I have endured tremendous setbacks and unimaginable pain in the last few years (with no one to blame but myself). As I lick my wounds, it's almost too easy to try to imagine my way out of this small place in which I've found myself. This is the key to my survival. I have to imagine a better future for myself and then believe in it.  There was a time in my nascent youth when I loved to draw. My artistic abilities were slightly above average, but I didn't pursue drawing because I saw a future in it. I just loved it. And all drawings start with a sketch, a few tentative lines at first and then bolder as the image takes shape. Before anything is put down on paper, however, it starts in the artist's imagination. The future of me is a bla...