Kiss me and you will see how important I am.

A black-sharded lady keeps me in a parrot cage.

The sheets grow heavy as a lecher's kiss.

You know what lies are for.

I had imagined a kind, ugly, intuitive man looking up and say, 'Ah!' in an encouraging way, as if he could see something I couldn't, and then I would find words to tell him how I was so scared, as if I were being stuffed farther and farther into a black, airless sack with no way out.

But I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure at all. How did I know that someday―at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere―the bell jar, with its stifling distortions, wouldn't descend again?

All I want is blackness. Blackness and silence.