Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black. She has a knife, knife, knife, stuck in her back, back, back. She cannot breathe, breathe, breathe. She cannot cry, cry, cry. Thats why she begs, begs, begs. She begs to die, die ,die...

[in response to a jealous comment made by Amber] PJ's mouth snarls open. "If you aren't going to play nice, my thorny little bush, I think you should return to the dirty playground that you crawled from.

Okay, now you're starting to scare me," Wes says. "No, scary is the way people can alter their voices on cue. Like your imitation of that creepy guy who lives at your house." "You mean my dad?" he laughs.

I do know that living in the past only messes up your present

My thoughts amuse me.

You need to screw up to learn. You need to experience to create greatness.

You deserve to die," I whisper, suddenly realizing Iv'e said the words aloud. "Excuse me?" "Nothing." "Not nothing. You just told me that I deserve to be maggot feed." "Not maggot feed, just-" "Dead!" "Forget it" "I don't know why I said that. Just daydreaming, I guess." "Daydreaming about my death?" "Forget it", I repeat. "Are you sure you aren't still mad that I wouldn't let you borrow my vintage fishnet leggings?" "More like I didn't want to borrow them.