SuperMoist Finds Nirvana After All

What theeng? Oh, that thing? Life? Yeah. Oh, my precious Lamb. I'll see you your spooky and raise you an uneasy silence that is meant to mean: I'm so very sorry that I just didn't have any of the answers to all of the complicated questions you asked me in the future. But I'll try to make it up to you by swallowing Damocles' sword, and hope the god-laws of nature will take my torn trachea as tender for the tariff on the lives that matter much more to me than mine: yours, his, and theirs. I don't mean to say that I want to pluck all the thorns, but if you need to sleep off the pain, as even the strongest have to sometimes do, well, I'll tuck you in and keep watch: check on you, bring you water and leave the hall light on. Can't you see, my little Treasure? I don't want to sell my soul, just use it as collateral.

And you. Criminal. You are indelible. Without you there are no reasons left to find. And I'll collateralize and come for you in whatever way you wish. I could write pages more but I think I will take a bath quick fast and then crawl under the covers and coerce you into collecting on some cabeza I owe you because my words never make you oh-oh-oh like that.

I bleed a lot in my imagination but I have two people who need me and don't mind me needing them. I am not sure that I could be any happier.