It's Rare That I Read

Once You've Arrived At The End Of The World, It Hardly Matters Which Route You Took.

I Adapt To Things Quickly, Including Good Things, Which I Wish I Could Shut Off Sometimes.

I Don't Want To Hear Music, I Don't Want The Sunrise To Be Pink. The World Is A Liar. Its Ugliness Is Overwhelming; The Scraps Of Beauty Make It Worse.

I Would Like My Life To Be A Movie So I Could Cut To A Montage.

How Do I Appear Unthreatening When Her Lover's Blood Is Running Down My Chin?