My Most Meticulous, Pretentious, Adventitious Subtitle Yet!

I guess you could call me psychotic. But I'd rather just get it over with.

Picture this: hair strewn across layers of cotton with a mouth ajar.

Or this: creases on creases pressed between sheets of ghostly apparel.

But maybe: lips pressed together, pinched tight, with eyes of an orphan smiling back at something she never had.

I'm giving up on finding imperfect chapters that can't help but find their ways into my little dark side. Maybe it's that I just need some sort of routine. Finding yourself with everyday habits doesn't seem too mundane. Check this. Check that. Sign this. Drink that. Run point five this way. Jog point two this day--only because it's an odd day. Or what about posting a bit of my mystery on the television screen. Blaring out in anguish and letting verbs fall where they may. Okay, okay. I'll bite my tongue now, knowing that everyone finally appreciates me for what I am.

Yeah, right. I'll take those first four sentences instead.