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We're damaged people
Drawn together
By subtleties that we are not aware of
Disturbed souls
Playing out forever
These games that we once thought we would be scared of...
We're damaged people
Praying for something
That doesn't come from somewhere deep inside us
Depraved souls
Trusting in the one thing
The one thing that this life has not denied us
~Damaged People-Depeche Mode: Playing the Angel

And five became seven and seven to ten to six to five to the beginning of the world. The Asylum of the Five Minds was bled and reborn unto mother earth and father sky, and in the end was cracked and broken and weakly reformed into a priceless black diamond, with jagged edges sharp like a razor and a surface like a looking glass.

The Players
The music fitted nightmare room was flooded with the lust and love of the ages, so savagely ripped the hearts that together made so much more than apart. Resonance of waves and the strange beauty of stripes on spots, the dissapearance of the mind, and the resurfacing of the heart are all par for the course, and in the end, it will always be the musical nightmare. But this nightmare contains so much more than the platitiudes of years past, and the small sufferings and murmerings lovers. This musical nightmare is the five movement symphony, variations on a theme in the key of pain minor, with a major drop and a sudden lift to the heaven of eyes and eyes that do nothing but love and hope. Eyes and eyes always on each other, always with the music, and the variation on the theme.
Symphorian and Nightmare

Sharp wit and an even sharper mind will stab and cut the self esteem, and leave the ego ripped to shreds if boundaries are crossed in this solid white world. There is nothing worth the hatred that is below the contempt so fully, that the eyes are abandoned in the name of the truth, that the truth is abandoned in the name of compassion, and the compassion is abandoned only in the light of death. The dominion is proper, is true, is fitting, and is disguised in intelligence and drowned in insomnia.
The Dominant Dark Lord

Maybe a boy, and maybe a warrior, but definitely a physical anomoly of the largest proportions. Nothing is worth the task of loving such a force, but to undertake is to commit suicide, and we have all been comitted. Not a maybe hopeless case filled with the anger of a thousand generations of the middle class, and the nobility and honor of a thousand generations of royalty, all rolled into the heart of a hero and the mind of a child. Completely harmless, yet so very divine in the right of the imaginary darkness, because darkness comes from all sides, within and without.
Jonnef

A figment of the imagination whispered softly to the ear of the child about luck and loss in love and life, and children take heed to these occourances, noting both the good and the bad, along with the strange, and the unfair, and the painful. The intelligence of years abound was filled within the moment of a lifetime, and spilled like the tipping of an hourglass into the mind of the brightest eye. The brightest eye shines down upon the masses, nothing more than the beginnings of greatness gleaming down on the once extingushed star, and the star simply smiled, helpless yet severe. Beauty unknowing, power unbound.
(So Lucky)

Silence is nothing and pain is much less than what is to be desired for something pure and simple and compoundly complex. There is nothing to focus the energies of the silent minority, but the majority find the stunning words so much more than that at face value. Like Helen of Troy, we have built a memorial upon the beauty, would start wars and sell cars and kill and die for the beauty. But the beauty of the soul so much more. Nothing saying what is meant, but the beauty of the soul is the bow on the deal, the deciding factor of the beauty that we see. So Loved, so charished, yet so laced with lies.
UnWaNtEd LoVe

Easily glanced over and possibly ignored, loved by some and worthless to others not worth the time of day to most, belonging to some other time and place that is only her own. Selfish to a fault, doubtless mindless, at times even heartless, nothing left of confidence and no one even a little worried about the edge that isn’t the drop into the complete abyss of dreamless sleep. If she knew sense, she’d keep her mouth shut, but no does she know, so no does she not. Hopelessly desperate, yet somehow completely alone.
HemLox

We are desparate people, drawn together by a need for comfort from the hatreds and injustices of life. We are weak people, we are strong people, we are liars, we are killers, and we have lost all hope of redemption. Pain is slick and solid agains our skin.
We are Asylum, and in us, there is somehow home.

-- Asylum_All

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