in the morning the moon is cold. I can still write the same lines, call the same codes. All of it is bad weather, sad tornadoes, guilty thunder. Sure, i miss ya, but what do i know. i was just talking for talking's sake.
Nothing seems sober when you are, when you are. That's all i know, for pete's sake.
All my confessions were masking a great compulsion.
In this, I am eternally alone.
i am inescapable.
to kill yourself.