Character Is Fate.

Cold Glass, How You Insert Yourself Between Myself And Myself. I Scratch Like A Cat. The Blood That Runs Is Dark Fruit- An Effect, A Cosmetic. You Smile. No, It Is Not Fatal.

I Must Get My Soul Back From You; I Am Killing My Flesh Without It.

There Is Nothing Like Puking With Somebody To Make You Into Old Friends.

I Dream Too Much, Work Too Little.

Why Can’t I Try On Different Lives, Like Dresses, To See Which Fits Best And Is More Becoming?