"I felt like crying but nothing came out. it was just a sort of sad sickness, sick sad, when you can't feel any worse. I think you know it. I think everybody knows it now and then. but I think I have known it pretty often, too often."
— Charles Bukowski (Tales of Ordinary Madness)
Monday, October 22, 2012
gone.
Why is it the women who fall in love with me end up hating me? Am I that fucking terrible?
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