I'm happier writing about doctors than I would have been being one.
They had to call and call And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
When you give someone your whole heart and he doesn't want it, you cannot take it back. It's gone forever.
Piece by piece, I fed my wardrobe to the night wind, and flutteringly, like a loved one’s ashes, the gray scraps were ferried off, to settle here, there, exactly where I would never know, in the dark heart of New York.
My flesh winced, in cowardice, from such a death.
See, the darkness is leaking from the cracks. I cannot contain it. I cannot contain my life.