Once there, I lock the door behind me and find Nic drunkenly babbling on the couch to himself. Shaking my head, I drape a blanket over him and head to my old room. I lie down and stare at the ceiling, not tired.
I'm never what I like I'm double sided And I just can't hide I kind of like it When I make you cry 'Cause I'm twisted up, twisted up Inside
“Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number.
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you—
Ye are many—they are few.” — Mary Shelly