The High End Theory.

I have lost control over everything, even the places in my head.

But I tried, didn’t I? Goddamnit, at least I did that.

I am half agony, half hope.

Every time I conjure up a rock, I throw it.

You’re not as real to me as you were.

It’s not ‘clever lonely’ (like Morrissey) or ‘interesting lonely’ (like Radiohead); it’s ‘lonely lonely,’ like the way it feels when you’re being hugged by someone and it somehow makes you sadder.

You speak to me in words and I look at you with feelings.

I cling to my own ache, I cling to the past and it gets to a point when I can’t even remember without hurting.

The rest of my life stretches out as an emptiness before me.

You will burn and you will burn out; you will be healed and come back again.

I stole her heart away and put ice in its place.

You speak to me in words and I look at you with feelings.

I was so alone that every day was like eating my own heart.