turn
such unrestrained and demonstrated malice to order, bred of brilliant men on the brink, at some point disinchanted, is all that i now rest on in my defense. lest we so hastily forget the short and sharp turn of events that brought us to this hole in the margin of notebook paper. all that is noted walks around us like plague. and my wrath will not be satisfied. dont you understand? it is saddness i search for, not joy. i know no other sancutary than solitude, you will never know me, you will never understand. kindness is a sharp and sure delivery from my hideaway in solice and hurt. i cuss the very love i beg to learn to live for. i will die of this, im sure of it, miserable and alone.