Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there; something worth learning in that narrow diary of my mind
Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.
As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.
The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart.
I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
[I] have fantasies of killing myself and thus being the powerful one not the powerless one.