All the shitty stuff people do to themselves... it can all be the same thing, you know? Just a way to drown out your own voice. To kill your memories without having to kill yourself.

I crush her against me. I want to be part of her. Not just inside her but all around her. I want our rib cages to crack open and our hearts to migrate and merge. I want our cells to braid together like living thread.

Once again the absurdity of my inner thoughts overwhelms me, and I want to crawl out of my skin, escape my ugly, awkward flesh and be a skeleton, naked and anonymous.

Soft flesh is eaten by hard teeth.

Writing isn't letters on paper. It's communication. It's memory.

She is Living and I'm Dead, but I'd like to believe we're both human. Call me an idealist.

We smile, because this is how we save the world.