So hungry-sensitive that he craves day and night the pap of praise, he`ll ease his gripes or fingerpaint in heartsblood on a public page. The ordinary world must be altered to circumvent his rage. He`ll tell, with stylish Angst of course, the inmost secrets of our bed. Words are far worse than drugs; there is no hope of surfeit or remorse. The world lies wide, and warm. No kiss, no child, no prayer will keep him here. I`ll wash the floors. He`ll watch the stars. I`ll salt his life with common sense. He`ll suck my sap and vigour down the crude mouth of his private hell. Visions have no equivalents. He`ll die of drink and candy bars.SourceThe script ran 0 seconds.
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