I can't find a single picture of you. I often think if i had a gun idve done it long ago. I destroyed that computer, the one with all the photos. I already killed all my memories. All that remains are bare emotions. Words. I'm dying. Greener. Sam. Kings. There were so many nights that would be the end if i had a gun. There is nothing preventing it. Only hinderances like pain, fear and a bloody mess but that could all be solved with the perfect weapon of my destruction. Until the day that i perish i live as though i have inside for i have and I've nothing to live for. I traded my lust for a rush. A fix and now i hurt as without even with.