I would kill to make you feel, Amanda says.

I wouldn’t kill a mosquito, Chris says.

She’d never kill a soul, or so she says.

He killed my heart, I know that for a fact.

We talk about killing all the time. A part of us dies sometimes and we never even make enough time to mourn. Amanda once stepped on a dying bird; even though she’s not the killing type. Chris doesn’t kill any mosquitoes but he kills friendships, all the time. I’ve seen him do it more than once…but he’s not the killing type either.

She said she’d never kill a soul because her father left her feeling empty and so she killed her own. Beware. He killed my heart. He didn’t break it, he killed it. Did he care? Not enough.

Just because you’re very good at justifying your beliefs doesn’t make it right. Just because you’re not the killing type doesn’t mean you’re not a killer. Amanda is a genius. She shows death in a different shade of red. She understands. She sheds light on raw emotions, my favorite kind.

Be careful what you kill; you might want it back. It doesn’t matter if you want it back, you’ve given it away. I don’t know why Amanda is such a wonderful lyricist. A mystery as unknown as her killer.


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