Facts And Particulars Annoy Me.

I Hear The Mad Song Of A Little Bird And Crush Butterflies Between My Fingers.

I Want The Following Word: Splendor, Splendor Is Fruit In All Its Succulence, Fruit Without Sadness. I Want Vast Distances. My Savage Intuition Of Myself.

Do Not Mourn The Dead. They Know What They Are Doing.

Facts And Particulars Annoy Me.

And I Want To Be Held Down. I Don't Know What To Do With The Horrifying Freedom That Can Destroy Me.