This World Is Full Of Broken Things:

The Us Dollar Is Our Currency But Your Problem.

I Believe In Those Whom I Love And Trust. All Else Is Foolishness. This God Is As Empty As His Church. His Followers Choose To Attribute All Of Their Good Fortune To Him, But When He Ignores Their Pleas Or Leaves Them To Suffer, They Say Only That He Ignores Their Pleas Or Leaves Them To Suffer, They Say Only That He Is Beyond Their Understanding And Abandon Themselves To His Will. What Kind Of God Is That?

I Dream Dark Dreams. I Dream Of A Figure Moving Through The Forest, Of Children Flying From His Path, Of Young Women Crying At His Coming. I Dream Of Snow And Ice, Of Bare Branches And Moon-cast Shadows. I Dream Of Dancers Floating In The Air, Stepping Lightly Even In Death, And My Own Pain Is But A Faint Echo Of Their Suffering As I Run. My Blood Is Black On The Snow, And The Edges Of The World Are Silvered With Moonlight. I Run Into The Darkness, And He Is Waiting. I Dream In Black And White, And I Dream Of Him. I Dream Of Caleb, Who Does Not Exist, And I Am Afraid.

He Became Merely The Broken Statue Of A Beast, Now Without Another's Fear To Animate It.

I'm A Ghost," Said The Small Figure, Then Added, A Little Uncertainly, "boo?