There Was No One To Call Me

I Try To Make A Point Of Being Seen. Sometimes When I'm Out, I'll Buy A Juice Even When I'm Not Thirsty. If The Store Is Crowded I'll Even Go So Far As Dropping Change All Over The Floor, Nickels And Dimes Skidding In Every Direction. All I Want Is Not To Die On A Day I Went Unseen.

And He Isn't Crying For Her, Not For His Grandma, He's Crying For Himself: That He: Too, Is Going To Die One Day. And Before That His Friends Wil Die, And The Friends Of His Friends, And, As Time Passes, The Children Of His Friends, And, If His Fate Is Truly Bitter, His Own Children. (58)

I Was Never A Man Of Great Ambition I Cried Too Easily I Didn't Have A Head For Science Words Often Failed Me While Others Prayed I Only Moved My Lips

Franz Kafka Is Dead. He Died In A Tree From Which He Wouldn't Come Down. "come Down!" They Cried To Him. "come Down! Come Down!" Silence Filled The Night, And The Night Filled The Silence, While They Waited For Kafka To Speak. "i Can't," He Finally Said, With A Note Of Wistfulness. "why?" They Cried. Stars Spilled Across The Black Sky. "because Then You'll Stop Asking For Me."

There Is A Fallacy That The Powerful Emotion Of Youth Mellows With Time. Not True. One Learns To Control And Suppress It. But It Doesn't Lessen. It Simply Hides And Concentrates Itself In More Discreet Places. When One Accidentally Stumbles Into One Of These Abysses, The Pain Is Spectacular.