Ignore the mood, browser is spazzing and I can't change it.
.....

They're DyingThey're DyingThey're Dying
The suicide of my dreams always happens late at night. Always, but sometimes, or maybe only occasionally. Mostly they just cry themselves to sleep and bleed to death in the most beautiful shade of red you have ever seen; not by Shakespearian daggers or poetic tragedies but through the pain of longing to be something more than a fleeting thought like the very late moth in the morning. My dreams commit suicide when I don't know and they always die together leaving me to die alone and the vacuum they leave can only be filled if they've been kissed good-bye.
I ARE YOUR FATHER.
LIEK. YEAH.
My stalking skills: you cannot has escaping them.
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