I am alone here in my own mind. There is no map and there is no road. It is one of a kind just as yours is.

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

Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself, Counting this row and that row of moccasins Waiting on the silent shelf.

Letters are false really - they are expressions of the way you wish you were instead of the way you are.

I’ll put it out there: I am scarred by the nostalgic indicipherability of my own desires; I an engulfed by the intimidating unknown, pushed through darkness and dragged down by the irretrievable past sweetness of my memories.

Meanwhile in my head, I’m undergoing open-heart surgery.

The sea is mother-death and she is a mighty female, the one who wins, the one who sucks us all up.