Fuck it all, as he finally slipped back into his cocktail, she wondered would he ever come back out from this wet dream, dry nightmares now outlined his insides and escape came through her screams, he never wanted this, but embraced it as beauty, for the deranged jungle of a mind he created made for a good game, no winners, just losers that could chose temporarily to be scared, or flee. blame me for it all, please im begging on my knees for punishment, disease, hatred, anything so you can breath, cause im sick of it all. the pain is pure and lets him feel a life where their never was a choice, never a moment he controlled, but with only a roll of the dice everything was fine, back to a normality once formed in some kind of mathematical sequence that always equaled the exact same outcome as before; nothing. no place to hide his fire so he breaths the sorrow. blood know boils when she thinks of his lips, tenderly kissing each inch of her neck, then ever so delicately ripping the flesh into to shreds, destroying the creation. why live in something manifested by lie, it was never happiness he pined for, but instead the lust of pain. it gave an end to a surreal begining, it brought reality, it created life, and he hated him for it, but she loved herself for it; so together the equation made sense, made love, made friends forget each others names, and made lovers complain to their new facade that it was in the past and never even mattered, but without it she never could have known who she was and he could only count his lives on one hand now.