The Crime, from us, is hidden, [though] he is presumed to know.
I felt a Cleaving in my Mind- As if my Brain had split- I tried to match it- Seam by Seam- But could not make it fit.
One need not be a chamber to be haunted; One need not be a house; The brain has corridors surpassing Material place.
I am nobody! Who are you? Are you a nobody, too?
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.
I wonder if it hurts to live, And if they have to try, And whether, could they choose between, They would not rather die.