and i'm not going to write what happened hear. if you want to know, ask me and maybe i'll tell you. sometimes doing what you think is right is so hard

The night has fallen down the staircase. And I, for one, have felt its bruises. Equilbrium; inebriated. Our social graces have been displaced. The moon is rising, a revolution, I close my eyes and the room is spinning. You're screaming:

"Sweetie, the moon has raped me -- It has left its seeds like a tomb inside me. So I must learn to abort these feelings. This romance is bleeding..."