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We’ve updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

Tell Me I Have To Get A Job To Live, Pouring Wine From A Tin Can, Then Pouring It On Our Hearts When A Sigh Seemed To Blankly Disappear

from Before I Start To Fall, I Travelled In Time To When Creation Had Begun; Why Are We Praying To Higher Forces If Time Stops To Tick When We Sleep? And When Love Rules The World, Will The World Ever End? by Wings Of An Angel

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Wings Of An Angel Israel

My own identity feels like a construct, a collection of roles and personas worn like so many masks. Who am I, really?

Perhaps in the end, we are all just characters in someone else's novel, puppets dancing on strings we cannot see.
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