Turn your pain into wine. She dismantles all of the visions that you have. She is the burden of a world gone insane. Check your anger at the door. Shoot your emotions through the void and demand to have them reassembled. The watcher lurks in the hills of your past--sniping every prospect that comes by.

She was a beautiful girl. You dreamed her into existence and then destroyed her. You cannot be healed. Your instincts destroy your thinking.

I will destroy worlds. Barricades will fall and only chaos can ensue. Only chaos can rule you. I know that you want me disfigured and twisted the way your visions present me, but they are only visions--they are only glimpses of how I look inside. Stop the ill will and know that I am suffering--that your desire has always been true and accurate.

I feel your love is a lie, but who needs love when you have your pain to keep you company? Your pain to propel you. It is my love--because it stabs me like a madman every second that I exist.

I hear voices. I write down what the voices say. This is not me. Who are you talking to?
Who do you converse with when you feel lonely?