Then I Thought, "no, I Broke It

I Saw Myself Sitting In The Crotch Of This Fig Tree, Starving To Death, Just Because I Couldn't Make Up My Mind Which Of The Figs I Would Choose. I Wanted Each And Every One Of Them, But Choosing One Meant Loosing All The Rest, And, As I Sat There, Unable To Decide, The Figs Began To Wrinkle And Go Black, And, One By One, They Plopped To The Ground At My Feet.

Perfection Is Terrible, It Cannot Have Children.

I Have Stitched Life Into Me Like A Rare Organ

The Trouble Was, I Had Been Inadequate All Along, I Simply Hadn't Thought About It.

You Know What Lies Are For.