Sometimes when you've got food poisoning and you're holding on to the toilet, after emptying your guts into the increasingly putrid commode water, you lay your head down to rest on the cold porcelain.

Occasionally, you do this even though you've noticed a stray pubic hair or remnants of dried urine on the bowl's rim. But your fevered exhaustion overrides your distaste because you know you'll need your strength for that next bout of puking.

At these moments, you sometimes sincerely wish you were dead; that life would be easier if it were over. Here death would be the welcome end of your tormented existence.

But a couple days later, after you've recovered, your shrug off those desperate toilet-hugging death wishes.

Intelligent, intense...and yeah, I'll say it...handsome as all hell. My choice for partner in crime, hellraising and all kinda danger.

"In this spasm
In this jerk
In this city
A little death
For this boy
Little screams
A little blood
A tattooed rune..."

Hey Birdie Birdie Want some Pizza? I'm your Queen!