I don't remember you. Oh. Well I'm sorry I couldn't make my presence known more often. I was dead at the time. Will you teach me how to fight? Tell me to forget how to love. Keep me away from myself, and don't let me think too often about unhealthy things like the future. Plug the hole in my lung with your finger so I can take a decent enough breath to scream at you. I'm better off without sight. My teeth are chattering from an inability to equate myself to the values I eschew as necessary and tragically uncommon. I'll k i l l myself off before I worry like that again. Why does everyone need 120 days and who stops to count them?
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