CAPSlock

HOW CAN YOU BE GENTLE, LIKE THIS? I’VE NEVER BEEN GENTLE. I CANNOT BE. MY WORDS ARE GRASPING TENDRILS THAT TUG AT TENTERHOOKS AND LEAVE ME PERFECTLY, FURIOUSLY TERRIBLE.	how can you be reckless, like this? i’ve never been reckless. i cannot be. my words are quiet hillocks that spread across expanses and leave me terribly, placidly perfect.
I WOULD SAY I HATE IT, BUT IT WOULDN’T BE NEW. I HATE EVERYTHING ABOUT THE WORLD, ABOUT YOU—DANDELIONS IN THE WIND, THE METACARPALS’ DIVINE WORK, SECONDARY FEATHERS, THE GORGE, THE GROUT, THE SEWAGE. YOUR TEETH, YOUR HAIR, YOUR EYES, YOUR SINGLE-MINDED SELF-AGGRANDIZING QUIETUDE.	i would say i like it, but it wouldn’t be new. i like everything about the world, about you—roses in arbors, the mask’s divine anonymity, primary coverts, the gorge, the grout, the sewage. your bite, your mane, your eyes, your terror-jagged damned volume.
BUT YOU KNOW THIS, OR YOU IMPLY THAT YOU KNOW THIS. BECAUSE I AM MYSELF AND I CANNOT BE ANYTHING BUT.	but you know this, or you imply that you know this. because i am perfect and i cannot be anything but.
I COULD BE GOOD IF YOU LET ME. MY SKIN IS DRY AND I HAVEN’T BEEN TOUCHED IN AGES. MY BARK IS FAR WORSE THAN MY BITE, THOUGH THE ORTHODONTIST GAVE ME COMPOSITE FANG CROWNS FOR FREE, AN ACT OF BENEFICENCE, AND TOLD ME IT WOULD HELP MY INSIDES MATCH MY OUTSIDES. IT ONLY HURTS A LITTLE BIT TO LISTEN TO MY VOICE.	i could be bad if you let me. my skin is soft and i’ve wanted to touch you for ages. my bite is far worse than my bark, though the orthodontist gave me a permanent retainer for free, an act of beneficence, and told me it would help my outsides match my insides. it seems to hurt you when you listen to my voice.
LOOK AT ME! I COULD BE YOUR BEST FRIEND.	look at me! i could be your best friend.

HOW CAN YOU BE GENTLE, LIKE THIS? I’VE NEVER BEEN GENTLE. I CANNOT BE. MY WORDS ARE GRASPING TENDRILS THAT TUG AT TENTERHOOKS AND LEAVE ME PERFECTLY, FURIOUSLY TERRIBLE.	how can you be reckless, like this? i’ve never been reckless. i cannot be. my words are quiet hillocks that spread across expanses and leave me terribly, placidly perfect.
I WOULD SAY I HATE IT, BUT IT WOULDN’T BE NEW. I HATE EVERYTHING ABOUT THE WORLD, ABOUT YOU—DANDELIONS IN THE WIND, THE METACARPALS’ DIVINE WORK, SECONDARY FEATHERS, THE GORGE, THE GROUT, THE SEWAGE. YOUR TEETH, YOUR HAIR, YOUR EYES, YOUR SINGLE-MINDED SELF-AGGRANDIZING QUIETUDE.	i would say i like it, but it wouldn’t be new. i like everything about the world, about you—roses in arbors, the mask’s divine anonymity, primary coverts, the gorge, the grout, the sewage. your bite, your mane, your eyes, your terror-jagged damned volume.
BUT YOU KNOW THIS, OR YOU IMPLY THAT YOU KNOW THIS. BECAUSE I AM MYSELF AND I CANNOT BE ANYTHING BUT.	but you know this, or you imply that you know this. because i am perfect and i cannot be anything but.
I COULD BE GOOD IF YOU LET ME. MY SKIN IS DRY AND I HAVEN’T BEEN TOUCHED IN AGES. MY BARK IS FAR WORSE THAN MY BITE, THOUGH THE ORTHODONTIST GAVE ME COMPOSITE FANG CROWNS FOR FREE, AN ACT OF BENEFICENCE, AND TOLD ME IT WOULD HELP MY INSIDES MATCH MY OUTSIDES. IT ONLY HURTS A LITTLE BIT TO LISTEN TO MY VOICE.	i could be bad if you let me. my skin is soft and i’ve wanted to touch you for ages. my bite is far worse than my bark, though the orthodontist gave me a permanent retainer for free, an act of beneficence, and told me it would help my outsides match my insides. it seems to hurt you when you listen to my voice.
LOOK AT ME! I COULD BE YOUR BEST FRIEND.	look at me! i could be your best friend.