I Talk To God But The Sky

I Suppose If I Gave Myself The Chance I Could Be An Alcoholic.

If I Was Going To Fall, I Would Hang On To My Small Comforts, At Least, For As Long As I Possibly Could.

I Think I Am Mad Sometimes.

I Desire The Things That Will Destroy Me In The End.

As From A Star I Saw, Coldly And Soberly, The Separateness Of Everything. I Felt The Wall Of My Skin; I Am I. That Stone Is A Stone. My Beautiful Fusion With The Things Of This World Was Over.