I don't kill people.
Perhaps it's just another inhibition to do away with. Perhaps not. There's
really no way of telling. It's possible I've just never been able to well
up so much interest in any person to care enough to end their life. I'd
much rather avoid them altogether. Most of them. It's 4 A.M. and the sky
is beautiful. Up and away from this room and this bed and the oppersive
inevitability of sleep. I HATE SLEEP. But sleep always comes (that, or
madness) fighting off a heavy eyelid gets lonely. But spending time this
way does allow you some insight on certain things. Though perhaps trivial,
as most things tend to be. You begin to get very familiar with an
untainted sadness, and those, nasty, all consuming