I don't understand silence.
Unless it's my own.
And even then, I've no idea.
This whole thing is making me
feel...awful.
I don't understand it.
I have a headache.

I'm ripping backgrounds out of magazines,
drawing on a faceless person of
some sort.
Slapping some lyrics
into a speach bubble.
It loosk cool, but I have no idea
what to do with all these scraps.
Maybe I can string them
together and make myself into
something better.

Hm. Maybe I'll write a poem or something,
I like the sound of this.