For All The Things I'm Losing I

Step Out The Front Door Like A Ghost Into The Fog Where Noone Notices The Contrast Of White On White.

A Long December And There's Reason To Believe, Maybe This Year Will Be Better Than The Last.

Sometimes The World Seems Like A Big Hole. You Spend All Your Life Shouting Down It And All You Hear Are Echoes Of Some Idiot Yelling Nonsense Down A Hole.

You Don't Understand What Makes You Understand What Makes Your Life Better Until You Take Something That Makes It So Much Worse And You Embrace That.

I Can Remember Being Eight Years Old And Having Infinite Possibilities. But Life Ends Up Being So Much Less That We Thought It Would Be When We Were Kids, With Relationships That Are So Empty And Stupid And Brutal. If You Don't Find A Way To Break The Chain And Change In Some Way, Then You Wind Up, As The Rhyme Goes: A Murder Of One, For Sorrow.