it's the crick in your neck when you fall asleep you live in a dead world and to bloom is to fall on the sword "how can i milk this?" "how weak can he truly feel?"
we now know that these pieces weren't just created by man but by heartbreak, anguish, frustration, infidelity, lust, addiction, divorce and suffering one may imagine the head of a constantly changing beast ripping open the author of these words with more and more blood the head of a fox wearing the young writer's body to prop them up
