Psychiatry is a dirty mirror.
Poems aren't postcards to send home.
The future is a fog that is still hanging out over the sea, a boat that floats home or does not.
As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.
Death's in the good-bye.
Don’t worry if they say you’re crazy. They said that about me and yet I was saner than all of them. I knew. No matter. You know. Insane or sane, you know. It’s a good thing to know - no matter what they call it.