I'm a toxic waste byproduct of God's creation.

Your heart is my piñata.

Me with nothing left to lose, plotting my big revenge in the spotlight. Give me violent revenge fantasies as a coping mechanism.

Pretty much always. We need to tell the story of our life to someone.

In a city this size, every year, hundreds of husbands walk away. Kids leave home. Wives escape. People disappear.

Don’t ask me when be­cause I don’t re­mem­ber, but some­where along the way I keep for­get­ting to com­mit sui­cide.

Because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it.