The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart.
The body is a damn hard thing to kill.
I wonder if the artist ever lives his life--he is so busy recreating it.
It is June. I am tired of being brave.
I am your dwarf. I am the enemy within. I am the boss of your dreams. See. Your hand shakes. It is not palsy or booze. It is your Doppelganger trying to get out. Beware...Beware...
Death's in the good-bye.