I think it will be a miracle if I don't someday end up killing myself.

[I] have fantasies of killing myself and thus being the powerful one not the powerless one.

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

Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.

Death, I need my little addiction to you. I need that tiny voice who, even as I rise from the sea, all woman, all there, says kill me, kill me.

You lay, a small knuckle on my white bed; lay, that fist like a snail, small and strong at my breast. Your lips are animals; you are fed with love. At first, hunger is not wrong.

I'm hunting for the truth. It might be a kind of poetic truth, and not just a factual one, because behind everything that happens to you, there is another truth, a secret life.