i think there are few things more beautiful than the sound of a knife sharpened slowly by hand to the beat of a good song. the noise is like my skin grating against your face, after five o' clock.

you think i don't care maybe, but i don't think you have a fucking clue. i care about everyone, just myself the most. maybe i need to assert myself more, i have a feeling i'm being grossly misunderstood.