It’s something not to say and it’s nothing really.

How much time do we have? I only ask because I only have questions. I can say very few things about you that mean anything.

A bird could shit a solid shit  from 20 000 feet and kill me instantaneously

You were brought up against yourself and were only a Peter Pan waiting for no tomorrow.

I feel things too deeply and I lose myself to that part of my heart that has no business existing.

I’ve got my own ear-drums to listen to, my heart beats so fast I hear nothing else.

I need to sleep but I want to stick around. Sleep is the moment of death at the end of the day and whilst somebody dies somebody else lives.

When there is nothing I can’t, I can’t when there is nothing. Have I told you before? I talk to you, and to myself, I always talk to you.

Interior life, slightly sedated

episodic complaints from a man on the brink