Thief!- how did you crawl into, crawl down alone into the death I wanted so badly and for so long.

All I am is the trick of words writing themselves.

As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.

Talk to me about sadness. I talk about it too much in my own head but I never mind others talking about it either; I occasionally feel like I tremendously need others to talk about it as well.

I burn the way money burns.

When I'm writing, I know I'm doing the thing I was born to do.

Images are the heart of poetry ... You're not a poet without imagery.