I still feel sick,

I'm no idiot, I can comprehend that it was I that threw you away, but that's just semantics.

I can see another's hand collect the flesh of your stomach as he writhes behind you, I'm just glad he still doesn't have a face.

Been pulling the glass out of my feet for three weeks now.

Better a glass than a headful of sparks.

Careful there! Doctors orders: try a little escapism.

 I'm done with the monochrome coat.

This is a head down, pen's at dawn, conflict with the beast within.

That c**t is going down soon.

A well deserved farewell.

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