If there is power in numbers, then I am an empress. I am a hexagonal pyramid diamond, setting the settlers eyes on fire. I have tamed the Mares of Diomedes. I have learned the ways of Hades, now calmed cold by a strychnine-laced diet. I have multiplied the clouds, so that the sun will remain forever hidden from the world, as it hid itself from me. And I owe it all to how I have always naturally divided myself into a thousand.
If there remains even one pleasant memory of Juliet, I will deprive it of oxygen. But I cannot find it, because it has crawled behind a larger memory. Time passes, and though sister’s drug use increases, all that have no choice but to deal with her, look sicker than she ever has.
I am sore and cynical. Tired and in a sour mood. I do not care what I look like, when my feelings could not match a good appearance. Everything has become a chore, with no possibility of experiencing a sense of accomplishment. Skip the bath, pull out the expensive perfume. Wear exactly what clothed me yesterday. Some never saw the outfit, and the others would not dare comment on it, if they are the type who can remember their manners.