The Voice from the Empty Chair

Act like you ain’t seen nothing, thrown under the bus, safely wherever that you are not. We’ve all been drinking Kool-Aid, irony eats its own. I won’t be sending cards and flowers; if only you knew! Anything to get attention… Wishing you were dead? Nothing matters, we could make people do things. Here is all my money; nicely done guys. The dawning realisation that, until, in the end, I think I speak for everyone here.

So many enemies that I have never met.