Looking at the blood spattered in a delicate array at the bottom of a sink, while the ethereal strings of a violin move around and through me and the piano dances gently upon my ears. I want to wake up, I am convinced that this is a cruel, cruel dream. Hard pressed to find another time where I’ve encountered anything like this before.

Throw these thoughts into the bushes in a fit of rage.
Less than a moose, but closer to neon white teeth.

“I remember thinking, my teeth never look that fucking white”

This fascination is turbulent and brooding, there is nothing sweet about it nor wicked. 3 Halves, its allowed. So I’ve been told.

The Incessant