I Have Stitched Life Into Me Like

The One Thing I Was Good At Was Winning Scholarships And Prizes, And That Era Was Coming To An End.

The Abstract Kills, The Concrete Saves.

I Must Not Be Selfless: Develop A Sense Of Self. A Solidness That Can't Be Attacked.

Look At That Ugly Dead Mask Here And Do Not Forget It. It Is A Chalk Mask With Dead Dry Poison Behind It, Like The Death Angel. It Is What I Was This Fall, And What I Never Want To Be Again. The Pouting Disconsolate Mouth, The Flat, Bored, Numb, Expressionless Eyes: Symptoms Of The Foul Decay Within.

It Is So Much Safer Not To Feel, Not To Let The World Touch Me.