(no subject)
The morning sun has faded into afternoon death. We're blistering in the heat of our own misery. Why? I wonder. What did we do to get here? Well, hell we've had one fucking good run, I'd say. But would she? This notion is what disturbs me. I often take her into account. I often bleed her soft voice and speak her language with a swollen tongue. Smiling, were all smiling. Crying. We're all crying. What's this? Our GoodNights have become GoodMornings, and im not quite sure im ready. Babbling. Nonsense. Inconsistency. AH. I need rest, once again.