think a lot and live without it.
I'll sit and watch in a piss stained corner while my angels get their wings torn away. They deserve nothing but the best, but that means nothing in their blistering cold atmosphere. They cannot cry because their eyes know no better, and they cannot bleed because their skin is too naive. They are tattered without consent and it is a movie to display. They cannot cry and they cannot bleed and no one sees their pain. Nothing comes from anything and its what makes up matter, the building blocks to which we destroy. Their lips are sealed and their hands are illiterate and it is a mistake to take note of. For they are making the history on which we were founded. Their pain is our future.