You smile. No, it is not fatal.
The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence.
God, how I ricochet between certainties and doubts.
A black-sharded lady keeps me in a parrot cage.
I think the coming of spring, the stars overhead, the first snowfall and so on are gifts for a child, a young poet.
Love is the bone and sinew of my curse.