When you write a book for publication, you're writing it for other people to read.

If I had a chance with him, I missed it. No, I didn't miss it. I threw it away.

It's hard to be disappointed when what you expected turns out to be true.

If you're angry, you don't have to write a poem dealing with the cause of your anger. But it needs to be an angry poem. So go ahead... write one. I know you're at least a little bit angry with me. And when you're done with your poem, decipher it as if you'd just found it printed in a textbook and know absolutely nothing about its author. The results can be amazing...and scary. But it's always cheaper than a therapist.

A week went by and nothing. But eventually, as they always will, the rumors reached me. And everyone knows you can't disprove a rumor.

But I do know which is the least popular. The truth.

That's why you did it. You wanted your world to collapse around you. You wanted everything to get as dark as possible.