Always feels like I'm running out of things to write, then I get into a huge fucking fight, always in one fucking day, it always happens in a new way, light is coloring every corner of my soul, always completely losing control, so many things to say, all being said in the same way. Does it make sense to you, what the fuck is there left to do. So much sense can be stumbled upon in this disease, so many answers if you please? They all think I'm a crazy ass, I used to be when I smoked glass. Now I am quite stable, not very willing and able, yet I try to be there, yet death gives me a scare, sometimes I want to die, other times the thought make me cry, not for me or my being, but for the ones left seeing, what mess I left behind, and that I really wasn't that kind. What the fuck is going on in my head? That is just enough said...
"What we've got here is failure to communicate.
Some men you just can't reach...
So, you get what we had here last week
Which is the way he wants it!
Well, he gets it!
N' I don't like it any more than you men."