I've written so many poems about lovers but it who was it I was speaking of? Nobody thinks to answer the question but they're always filled with answers. Maybe it wasn't who, but what. Does it matter?... I've said it too many times, I only find love's kiss at the ass end of the wizard's potion. SI.IS.GO.

Silence Is Golden. I'm just repeating myself these days. The message is still the fucking same. But the pain just reimburses its purse. The same fucking payment. "I only find joy in..." I find joy in nothing, just momentary passes of time that mitigate the pain for a minute.

Unecessary. Unneeded. Dead. I'd prefer it that way.