I need more than anything right now what is, of course, most impossible, someone to love me, to be with me at night when I wake up in shuddering horror and fear of the cement tunnels leading down to the shock room, to comfort me with an assurance that no psychiatrist can quite manage to convey.

I would say everything should be able to come into a poem, but I can't put toothbrushes into a poem, I really can't!

England offers new comforts. I could write a novel there.

Jealousy can open the blood, it can make black roses.

I am afraid. I am not solid, but hollow. I feel behind my eyes a numb, paralyzed cavern, a pit of hell, a mimicking nothingness.

I think I made you up inside my head.

Ever since I was small I loved feeling somebody comb my hair. It made me go all sleepy & peaceful.