That psychiatrist had it right, even if they were talking about someone else. I am drawn to the pattern, to the destruction. To the person who loves you but smashes everything to bits. Little eensy peices. Shards of glass to cut my fingers on as I pick them up.
I probably shouldn't have broken the door down, but the door shouldn't have been locked against me. It made me insane with rage. In...fucking...SANE! Add that to hormones and drunken inanity and you've got a fucking storm.
Cut to, broken windows, broken glass, but still a blowjob, post haste. Wtf kate. Really? Yeah, really. I guess I've met my match, and they name is roomate. Woot.
