How frail the human heart must be - a mirrored pool of thought.

A ring of gold with the sun in it? Lies. Lies and a grief.

I keep wanting to crawl back into the womb.

It is best to meet in a cul-de-sac, A palace of velvet With windows of mirrors. There one is safe, There are no family photographs, No rings through the nose, no cries.

I felt myself melting into the shadows like the negative of a person I'd never seen before in my life.

Sometimes I feel like I'm not solid. I'm hollow. There's nothing behind my eyes. I'm a negative of a person. All I want is blackness, blackness and silence.

I smile, now, thinking: we all like to think we are important enough to need psychiatrists