New start #2

From "The ballad of reading gaol" by Oscar Wilde, 
which you told me you would read last night but you didn't.

...

I only knew what hunted thought

Quickened his step, and why

He looked upon the garish day

With such a wistful eye;

The man had killed the thing he loved

And so he had to die.

___

Yet each man kills the thing he loves

By each let this be heard,

Some do it with a bitter look,

Some with a flattering word,

The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

Some kill their love when they are young,

And some when they are old;

Some strangle with the hands of Lust,

Some with the hands of Gold:

The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.

Some love too little, some too long,

Some sell, and others buy;

Some do the deed with many tears,

And some without a sigh:

For each man kills the thing he loves,

Yet each man does not die.

I don't even know how to use this shit/blog anymore.
Plus it's hot in here.
Plus I'm pissed off.

I am a mix of narcissist and insecure. And both of my sides are fighting (if only there were two). I pay someone to tell me these things.

I would like a bottle of champagne. I feel tired. I would like loud music in our bed. This would make me feel less tired. Black sheets, just black. You always loved this color. You feel tired. And this is where I stop.

On Fridays I take hot baths to forget that I suffer from the lack of any problems.

"Lovelessly fucking till you go to the office in the morning"

one of these days I will do something crazy.

-

Muss es sein?

Es muss sein!

Somebody told me that titles are useless. (so this is the last one)

If  you smell like cheap perfume you can have my number.

I inform you that I am unbalanced.

So will you call me?