Don't believe me when I tell you the cancer's gone, it's malignent as it bubbles over and eats me alive... This is rotten, darling. I can't stand the putrid stench of lust. ____________________________________________________ I can't sleep at night. My attempts to rest are weak at best. I end up drawing faces of people I've never seen. I write of things I've never done. I cry for things I've never experienced. I sing for people I'll never meet. I am a strange on. Or so they say. This Is Torture. Let me be. I don't want you or your remedies.