Man, those are some pretty eyes. Filled with marzipan and lies; sweet confectionary bullshit oozes out of the corners of your mouth. Beautiful, like blood. You can tell me all about the black escape, and I will understand. I've been there. I built a summer home there. Tell me all about it, darling. I got nothing to offer, but you can bounce anything you want off me. I'll absorb it - set you free.
My skin hurts like it's being torn.
I swore I wasn't going to write emo existential bullshit, but here we are. My eyes are only tiny slits, my throat feels like an ashtray. And I don't smoke.
I'm sorry. Alright. I know some people like plot and character and whatnot. I don't feel like forcing it, and I'm out of spontaneity. Don't worry; it'll come back. I think.