It’s all gone to hell.
I bet you thought it would be different, being human.
…sharp teeth of an angel.
Poetry is only a moment.
Love with a whole heart, or not at all — not even a little.
thank the gods for apathy
We point at the path of sticky entrails and we blame you.
There is mad, mad joy to be found.
This can’t bode well, can it?
Living in my head, it’s not such a bad thing.