fall into you is all I seem to do when I hit the bottle.
I'm losing it. Everything's going fucking nuts. I'm going nuts.
I don't even know what I'm thinking sometimes. I mean...Cadence. What happened to the Dylan who could keep those kinds of things locked up in a tiny little cupboard, along with self ambition and other emotions which definately don't need to see the light of day. For that matter, Dylan, what happened to your punctuation?
And then to compound it (or maybe cause it), I don't know the difference between real and my imagination. I even talked to one of these visons for aaaaaaaaages. Made a lot of sense, actually, even for aomething I imagined. I knew this imagination of mine would come back to hurt me. I know I always retreat into my head, but I didn't know my head would return the favour and make advances on reality.
God, I need help. But I'm afraid. They'll say I drink too much. They'll ask me about when I was a kid. I don't want to go there.
This just isn't fair. I want someone to make this better. Something to go my way. But the one person I look to for that...well, I took it too far, and now it's all complicated. like it wasn't before.
My head hurts, my back still hurts, and to top it all off, there's that dull ache in my chest.
This really does have to stop.
Hi. Um, sorry for before, that was a little weird, I know. I don't suppose you know where the Friar is, do you? unless he's some sort of weird, cheery priest these days...
Um. lo. Can I have a word? Just a short one.
Iceland is my saviour, you weirdoes. Got to love that þ and ð! Only language in the world still to use runic symbols. That's my bit of usefulness for the day.