No soy de allá, ni de acullá.

It wasn’t me who did this, but then who were the one with that horrible face in the mirror staring at me last night…?
I got this feeling, this sense, it seems that I have a different personality and it only pops up when someone I care about a lot is in the same place along with me, I’m not a serial killer, it’s just my possessed arm that hands an axe.
Forgive me, I need a drink, a scotch, after the first sip I kinda feel like if I was sleeping… and I need my ancient razor.