And we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins forgotten. Am I still lost? Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself

... and my love stays bitterly glowing, spasms of it will not sleep, and I am helpless and thirsty and need shade but there is no one to cover me- not even God.

I rot on the wall, my own Dorian Gray.

Don’t worry if they say you’re crazy. They said that about me and yet I was saner than all of them. I knew. No matter. You know. Insane or sane, you know. It’s a good thing to know - no matter what they call it.

Well, one gets out of bed and the planets don't always hiss or muck up the day, each day.

...became a woman who learned her own skin and dug into her soul and found it full.

Take your foot out of the graveyard, they are busy being dead.