I want to kill. Kill, kill, kill. Just to be contradictory and worthless.
Or maybe I can still die young, like a movie star or a rock and roll hero.
Sometimes you wake up and you think to yourself, “I have turned into one of those people on TV.”
Each time it happens, your blindness becomes a little more acute.
The air gets a little heavier, more like clay, trying to climb into your head through your ears and harden into denial or surrender.