shame.
You know what you did, don't you?
You know who you killed, who you hurt, who you betrayed.
You're ILL, John.
Mentally retarded and broken and sick to your rancid, rotting gut.
Watch how you sway from place to place.
You're so pathetic.
Decrepit, old, dirty.
You've dirtied your own name, John.
I hope you dread the awakening each morn.
Oh, Lenore . . .