Vent art (self portrait); sometimes I just don't feel human and I'm angry all the time and this giant ball of anxiety is pooling in my head like a fountains cage. And all I can think is why and that I'm sorry. But then I remember reality is a harsh reminder of limitations and I have no time for it.

I don't know if I'll ever color it.

From my Book an excerpt;

"... I couldn't remember the last time I really felt human. I was always different. But this was a feeling that wasn't familiar to my normal oddity. I was once human - wasn't I?

But then again, what's a human that's destined to be /not/ human? I looked at D with a rather concerned and pained expression for the first time in a long time. How long was it before I became distant with human nature, just as his father did? He caught my gaze without my meaning to and I drew back.

'Are you well? You seem paler than usual.' He brushed a hand against my forehead as per usual when I seemed weirdly off in my own thoughts. I responded with a quick smile and disregarded his question, standing to go make the usual tea for the noon lunch gathering. It was routine. And it was beginning to become... Sadly so.

D grabbed my hand suddenly - and as if the bullet that had ended my life so long before then had pierced me straight through - I felt a shock of electricity and I let my features soften. His voice was chipper, but still held that stern sympathetic undertone.

'Even someone like me can tell when you're upset about something silly. Forget tea time. Why don't we go out for lunch today instead?'

I looked over my shoulder, nodding slightly. Why not? Hell, even gods needed a day off."