Everyone Seems To Want More Form Me.

My Misery Is Reaching Epidemic Proportions.

Think: Who Has Vans, Huh? Soccer Moms And Serial Killers.

You Are Working Up To Mr. Fantastic Fiction Levels Of Zombie Expert, Which Is Like Playing Guitar Hero On Some Level That Actually Melts The Guitar Controller, Burning Your Fingers With Searing Hot Plastic Till You Scream In Pain. Only With Words. And Zombies.

Felicity And I Watch The Dancers Moving As One. They Spin About Like The Earth On It's Axis, Enduring The Dark, Waiting For The Sun.

Sometimes We Seek That Which We Are Not Yet Ready To Find.