the impossibility of being human all too human this breathing in and out out and in these punks these cowards these champions these mad dogs of glory moving this little bit of light toward us impossibly.

Why do you insist upon destroying yourself?

the history of melancholia includes all of us.

Beware of those who seek constant crowds; they are nothing alone.

I will remember the kisses, our lips raw with love, and how you gave me everything you had and how I offered you what was left of me.

Death is nothing, brother, it's life that's hard

Now something so sad has hold of us that the breath leaves and we can't even cry.