[Random Excerpt from Personal Diary]

Ash stained fingertips and i'm still humming funeral tunes in my head. I find myself wondering how a bottle of absinte would fair me at the moseleum, should i choose to venture out?

How did i end up tied up and hanging, tangled in my own noose?

The lenses on my glasses are completely scratched and yet i wear them as if looking through these slightly magnified lenses could clarify to me this otherwise confusing world.

And this headache-this fucking headache-won't ease up, no matter how many over the counter pills i ingest.

Today even the light bulbs shine dimly in this cramped little apartment.

It hurts to suddenly be aware that your existance is nothing more than a mere math equation that we will never live long enough to solve.

Winter just isn't my season.

To me it's most closely compared to being thrown into a tub of ice and having your skin removed by a wire brillo pad. Everything about this time of year is misery until the cold takes you over, and then as your extremities go numb from the pain...that's when you find yourself a creative high.

One black rose for every genious concept; a bouquet of regrets to torture the soul. My outlook on life is, to say the least, wilted.

I just want to set the world on fire and warm my hands in the blaze. There's nothing left here worth saving anymore-