My friend "M" says the irony of being a zombie is that everything is funny, but you can't smile, because your lips have rotted off.

I'd like to sit down with him and pick his brain, just a tiny bite somewhere in the frontal lobe to get a taste of his thoughts" -Warm Bodies

I'm watching her talk. Watching her jaw move and collecting her words one by one as they spill from her lips. I don't deserve them. Her warm memories. I'd like to paint them over the bare plaster walls of my soul, but everything I paint seems to peel.

Are we all just Dark Age doctors, swearing by our leeches? We crave a greater science. We want to be proven wrong.

I feel the flatline of my existence disrupting, forming heartbeat hills and valleys

Me agarro el estómago de nuevo. —Me siento vacío... Me siento...muerto.

Él asiente. —Matri...monio.