Emerald as heavy as a golf course, ruby as dark as an afterbirth, diamond as white as sun on the sea.

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

I’m lost. And it’s my own fault. It’s about time I figured out that I can’t ask people to keep me found.

Suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build.

Yes I try to kill myself in small amounts, an innocuous occupation. Actually I'm hung up on it.

The little girl skipped by under the wrinkled oak leaves and held fast to a replica of herself.

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