Why can I never go back to bed? Who's is the voice ringing in my head? Where is the sense in these desperate dreams? Why should I wake when I'm half past dead?

I was reading everything under the sun from music history to feminist literature to Shakespeare, which is why I'm not a complete idiot at this time.

If you're going to die, then die. If you are going to live, then fight.

I only sleep with people I love, which is why I have insomnia.

History written in pencil is easily erased, but crayon is forever.

And if I end up with blood on my hands, well I know, that you'll understand, 'cause I fight like a girl.

I'm a big stupid history nerd.