The truth comes to me. The truth loves me.
They would grow old. They would forget me.
Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.
I am silver and exact.I have no preconceptions.
I am accused. I dream of massacres. I am a garden of black and red agonies. I drink them, Hating myself, hating and fearing. And now the world conceives Its end and runs toward it, arms held out in love.
So much working, reading, thinking, living to do! A lifetime is not long enough.