As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.
Poetry is my life, my postmark, my hands, my kitchen, my face.
The trouble with therapy is that it makes life go backwards.
Thief!- how did you crawl into, crawl down alone into the death I wanted so badly and for so long.
Take your foot out of the graveyard, they are busy being dead.
Mood can be as important as sense.