...painfully Curious...about How It Feels To Fall.

In Our Absence, The Violet Early Evening Light Pours In The Bay Window, Filling The Still Room Like Water Poured Into A Glass. The Glass Is Delicate. The Thin, Tight Surface Of The Liquid Light Trembles. But It Does Not Break. Time Does Not Pass. Not Yet.

So Many Means Of Self-destruction, So Little Time.

My Bones Are Brittle, My Heart Weak And Erratic, My Esophagus And Stomach Riddled With Ulcers, My Reproductive System Shot, My Immune System Useless... I'm Not Going To Have A Happy Ending.

For Me, The First Sign Of Oncoming Madness Is That I'm Unable To Write.

After A Lifetime Of Silence, It Is Difficult Then To Speak.