Killing Makes Me Feel Good.

The Faster It Ran Away From Me. And I Found Myself Reasoning That Perhaps One More Beer Would Unlock The Doors Of Perception.

I Let It Ring. I Wanted To Breathe For A Few Minutes, And I Could Think Of Nothing That Couldn't Wait. Besides, I Had Paid Almost $50 For An Answering Machine. Let It Earn Its Keep.

It's Terrible To Have To Depend On Someone Else.

It's Always Me, Isn't It? I'm Not Really A Very Nice Person, But For Some Reason It's Always Me That They Come To With Their Problems.

Nothing Else Loves Me, Or Ever Will. Not Even - Especially - Me. I Know What I Am And That Is Not A Thing To Love.