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did you know that boy is an armed man? bearing flowers and two hands

he doesn’t reach out to steady her. anyone else might have had the empathetic reflex to do so. maybe it says something about him that he lacks this reflex. and maybe it says something about her that she prefers it this way.

there-there, dead man, you were someone's child. it's all over now.

i came home on tuesday and found all of the chairs that i own stacked in a tower in the center of my kitchen. i don't know how long they have been like that, but it can only be me that did it. it's the kind of thing a ghost might do to prove to the living that he is still there.

sunset is always trying to tell us this: 'i've grown weary. you mustn't stare at me so. you mustn't love me. i am not long for this world. but tomorrow morning. in the eastern sky, a new sun will be born. promise me you will be his friend and companion…'

well i’ve never really been so very stellar at writing songs for things that make me glad i try to tell you that i love you and it comes out sounding like i’m sad

look... he has your eyes… they are filled with fear.

'darling, darling,' she murmured, 'i live in you; and you would die for me, i love you so.'

i've been big and small, and big and small, and big and small again but still nobody wants me

i am almost completely soulless i am incapable of being human i am incapable of being inhuman i am living uncontrollably

he consumes himself in relentless self-devouring and his road is a solitary flame.

the truth of it is you were late. you were late, and you failed to protect her

i didn't feel good, but that didn't matter. feeling good isn't the point. doing good, that's what i'm about. that's all that matters.

what do i want to do...? do i have anything i want to do? does everyone else have something? something enjoyable? something i'm envious of?

well i’ve never really been so very stellar at writing songs for things that make me glad i try to tell you that i love you and it comes out sounding like i’m sad

you do not have to be good. you do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

good etiquette demands i remain soft and accessible in the face of my own ending

in a sense, the part of you that is the wolf has already begun to devour the you that you can only remember… do you not think in some way your grandmother devoured a little girl that used to walk through that forest as well?

i am constantly trying to communicate something incommunicable

candy says, ''i’ve come to hate my body and all that it requires in this world’’ candy says ''i'd like to know completely what others so discreetly talk about''