Of wolves and rabbits; as I fall from the burning sky of twilight.
2010-12-11, 4:00 a.m.

As time goes on, I've come to the conclusion that I hate the sound of my own voice. In every way.

The sound.

The sentence structure.

The syntax.


I can't help but think it comes from the lonely echoes of talking to myself. The fucking echoes. And nevertheless, right now, I'm alone.

Do nothing

Repitition of HatredLoveless AvenueBurn Out (and) Fade Away