The real mystery is this strange need. Why can't we just hide it and shut up? Why do we have to blab? Why do human beings need to confess?

The wolf is living for the earth.

What happens in the heart simply happens.

where are the gods the gods hate us the gods have run away the gods have hidden in holes the gods are dead of the plague they rot and stink too there never were any gods there’s only death

Do as you like with me. I'm your parcel. I have only our address on me. Open me, or readdress me.

The world's decay where the wind's hands have passed, And my head, worn out with love, at rest In my hands, and my hands full of dust.

And as if reporting some felony to the police they let you know you were not John Donne.