Can a selfish egocentric jealous and unimaginative female write a damn thing worthwhile?

Cold glass, how you insert yourself Between myself and myself. I scratch like a cat. The blood that runs is dark fruit- An effect, a cosmetic. You smile. No, it is not fatal.

I love life. But it is hard and I have so much, so very much to learn.

I thought how strange it had never occurred to me before that I was only purely happy until I was nine years old.

Let's face it: I'm scared, scared and frozen. First, I guess, I'm afraid for myself...the old primitive urge for survival. It's getting so I live every moment with terrible intensity.

I keep wanting to crawl back into the womb.

It never occurred to me to say no.