Thursday, August 7th, 2003 | 0:17
I am made of stone and ice and the only thing that gets inside me is the way you always said to be nice.

It's always a competition, isn't it? Something I can do, you can do better.
I'm entirely to blame, but it hurts just the same.
Cold sweat, racing heart. Really shouldn't and didn't need to hear it.
It's getting awfully tight and I am tired of feeling this way and if I feel, I feel... what should I feel if birds don't fly straight? Its too bad I carry it with me. It is far too late to let it show. Hues of night light down in the soft light and they call to me as they go asunder. -Matthew Good (If Birds Don't Fly Straight)

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