I Don’t Have Music, Christ I Wish

I Am An Emotional Plagiarist, Stealing Other People's Pain, Subsuming It Into My Own Until I Can't Remember Whose It Is Any More.

She's Talking About Herself In The Third Person Because The Idea Of Being Who She Is, Of Acknowledging That She Is Herself, Is More Than Her Pride Can Take.

I Don’t Have Music, Christ I Wish I Had Music But All I Have Is Words.

Have You Made Any Plans? Take An Overdose, Slash My Wrists Then Hang Myself. All Those Things Together? It Couldn't Possibly Be Misconstrued As A Cry For Help.

What I Sometimes Mistake For Ecstasy Is Simply The Absence Of Grief.