I've sitten in this dark drenched caked on nightmare make up of a room, and not even once did I get anything in return. I'm hungry. There, I've said it.
It won't get any brighter. But that's ok I can turn to the dark. Which won't happen because it won't get any darker. I have tv eyes. 6 headaches a day at the very least. It's fine. I wish my stomach would race itself out of my abdomen.
Good god, I do not believe I will ever willingly step foot into that store. It's a catalog of soggy dreams. And a crisper drawer for lukewarm terrors. If I send you an invitation to my final party, you'd better not be busy. This is the end.
PS. Final party=funeral duh