The neighbors are yelling at each other outside. I'm yelling at myself, inside. It's six thirty p.m.

Things seem a little bit out of control. Let it die let it die let it die let it die. Walk away. God's got it. All the bloody people who just keep coming around. They keep asking me for blood. I can't always handle it.
Someone funny. Someone angry. Someone playing the drums in the room. Someone playing her guitar in a glass box. Pieces of paint peeling off the wall, and you, you lovely, always shaking. I'm here holding the door, letting the cold air out. STOP STARING AT ME ACROSS THE ROOM. I don't have the guts to deal with that. Seven deadly sins. Several hours ago we were drinking coffee feeling fine. And now we're heartless. None. More.