Death And I Are Head To Head

I Feel Sorry For The Man Who Marries You... Because Everyone Thinks You're Sweet And You're Not.

I Look Upon Another's Insistence On The Merits Of His Or Her Life - Duties, Intellect, Accomplishment - And See That Most Of It Is Nonsense.

I Am In An Adolescence In Reverse, As Mysterious As The First, Except That This Time I Feel It As A Decay Of The Odds That I Might Live For A While, That I Can Sleep It Off.

Being Ill Like This Combines Shock - This Time I Will Die - With A Pain And Agony That Are Unfamiliar, That Wrench Me Out Of Myself.

It Is Like Visiting One's Funeral, Like Visiting Loss In Its Purest And Most Monumental Form, This Wild Darkness, Which Is Not Only Unknown But Which One Cannot Enter As Oneself.