The failures of the loved or equal to the lost. The only difference is, the loved have loved ones to cosign on their insanity, and promote the fabrication of them being normal.
Eureka, light! Bulb strikes and a Polaroid picture paints the picture I have failed to see, but painted, over and over, and over again… Self loathsome soul speaks ill of the one that lives closest to
SOMETIMES Sometimes I think about dying, well, I think about it a lot more than perhaps most. If I’m outside, I think about it at least once. But I think about it in passing, like a stop sign or a bro