I go on walks, not for myself but in spite of others.
I lay in the basement for hours, reading and lifting not for myself,
but for the fame that I am delusioned by.
I go on walks,
I lay in the basement for hours.
I would never hit a woman, but I'll surely creep one or a few out.
I would never kill-
I would never hit a woman.
I would never kill anything other than myself.
Tis the one act I shall do for myself, and in death let it be known
the birds and flowers that blossom in Spring are Christopher Marlowe, and I am Shakespeare.