Mental illness is the fashionable explanation for sin.
Life is too short for so much sorrow.
Knowing stuff has no value anymore. Not when the answer is in my back pocket or sitting on my desk. The youth has it figured out. The future will be filled with beautiful idiots who just want to feel.
I think it would be good for you to talk about why you want to die. Entertain me with your self-loathing.
I need a cigarette.
I love the bouquet of rotting flesh.
I have long stopped asking why the mad do mad things.
I don’t want to hurt you! Though I do have to kill you.
I don’t like unpredictability, unless I’m responsible for it.
Getting high used to be like how you imagine heaven. Pure light. The perfection of it all. Even in me. Then I got lost. Kept trying to climb higher. Get closer to that light. Like an endless ladder where all you do is get further and further away.
Ever since you got here, this is the better place.
Either crown me or kiss my ass.
