I am made, crudely, for success.

For the few little successes I may seem to have, there are acres of misgivings and self-doubt.

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

There is a certain unique and strange delight about walking down an empty street alone.

Out of the ash I rise with my red hair and I eat men like air.

I don't know how long I kept at it... I felt reasonably safe, streched out on the floor, and lay quite still. It didn't seem to be summer any more

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.