[I tell you this because as an artist,I think you'll understand:]

I'll be quiet to keep you quiet.
Don't concern yourself with my slow dying.
Through the vents I hear you sigh.
I don't get too high these days.
Your floor is my ceiling.
Lights out, you can't come in.

If you don't remind me, I won't forget you.
If you don't ask, I won't upset you.
I am jet black.
I am stone cold.
Jet black to the center.
Funny like a funeral.
I need you to bury me.

White noise in black room dust.
These hands long for one last touch.
Hourglass all out of trust.
I don't scratch so I won't itch.
I don't reach so I won't miss.
I taste our last kiss.

This is the cure: the same as the symptom.
Simple and pure: break to keep fixing.
Patiently nurse, patient and nurse.
This is the part I wouldn't show you.
The part where you say, "I don't even know you."
This is your cue.
Be glad it's through.

[Sometimes when I'm driving... on the road at night... I see two headlights coming toward me. Fast. I have this sudden impulse to turn the wheel quickly, head-on into the oncoming car. I can anticipate the explosion. The sound of shattering glass. The... flames rising out of the flowing gasoline.]

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