We are so beautiful.

It’s only in times of infirm like this I really feel mentally stronger
Only times of sickness and poor stature and lugubrious
I’ll walk that line between madness and genius
And become something higher than myself

I was so in love with you. When did you become something less than absolutely everything lovable?
Why did you turn out this way?
I know I’ve written or thought something like this a million times before, but still,
This time I seek closure.
Because we’ll never speak again.
And finally, that’s alright with me.
I will always remember what we were, but merely in memory. It’s finally over. I’m better off for it.

Life is so wonderfully ugly…
It’s the majority rule of bad times that make it so terribly lovely
Those moments glimpsed of paradise in the crinkled faces of actors and singers and lovers and poets
Those times of pure emotion that belittle all the rest.
We are so bad. We are so hateful. We are so greedy. We are so beautiful.