There's no light at the end of the tunnel, there isn't even a tunnel. The best thing I can do is get drunk and listen to classical music. Or sleep and wait for death to get closer. Leaving this will not be a horrible thing. Yet I'm glad, somehow, that I threw my words in the air: confetti, celebrating nothing.

I hated you when it would have taken less courage to love.

One more drink and you're dead. This is no way to talk to a suicide head.

I just want a hot cup of coffee,black,and I don’t want to hear about your troubles.

I'll use the knives for spreading jam, and the gas to warm my greying love.

Things will be far worse than they are now. And far better. I wait.

there must be a way. surely there must be a way that we have not yet thought of. who put this brain inside of me? it cries it demands it says that there is a chance. it will not say "no.