And the aura of you remains, remains, remains...

Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.

Perhaps I am no one. True, I have a body and I cannot escape from it. I would like to fly out of my head, but that is out of the question.

The place I live in is a kind of maze and I keep seeking the exit or the home.

But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Twice I have so simply declared myself, have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy, have taken on his craft, his magic.

The soul was not cured, it was as full as a clothes closet of dresses that did not fit.

Don't bite till you know if it's bread or stone.