There I went again, building up a glamorous picture of a man who would love me passionately the minute he met me, and all out of a few prosy nothings.

I've eaten a bag of Green apples. Boarded the train, there's no getting off

It never occurred to me to say no.

I felt the mask crumple, the great poisonous store of corrosive ashes begin to spew out of my mouth.

I get into a rut, unable to yank my mind out of it.

Oh what a poet I will flay myself into.

A fierce brief fusion which dreamers call real, and realists, an illusion; an insight like the flight of birds.