Your Hair Is An Act Of God.

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

I Crave White On White And Black, But My Thoughts Race In Glorious Technicolour, Prodding Me Awake, Whipping Away The Warm Blanket Of Invisibility Every Time It Sears To Smother My Mind In Nothing.

No Boy Is Worth Crying Over, And The One Who Is Won't Make You Cry.

Here I Am And There Is My Body Dancing On Glass In Accident Time Where There Are No Accidents You Have No Choice The Choice Comes After

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.