Clouds pass and disperse. Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables? Is it for such I agitate my heart?
The sheets grow heavy as a lecher's kiss.
It was my last act of love (first words to her mother in the hospital after her first major suicide attempt)
I wanted to be where nobody I knew could ever come.
Everything people did seemed so silly, because they only died in the end.
The frost makes a flower, the dew makes a star.