There Was Nothing I Hated Worse Than

Still Everyone, Including The Abbot, Had Said That He Was Running Away From His Grief. They'd Had No Idea What They Were Talking About. He'd Cradled His Grief, Almost To The Point Of Loving It. For So Long He Refused To Give It Up, Because Leaving It Behind Was Like Leaving Her.

Standing There, I Loved Myself And I Hated Myself. That's What The Black Mary Did To Me, Made Me Feel My Glory And My Shame At The Same Time.

You Have To Know When To Prod And When To Be Quiet, When To Let Things Take Their Course.

At Night I Would Lie In Bed And Watch The Show, How Bees Squeezed Through The Cracks Of My Bedroom Wall And Flew Circles Around The Room, Making That Propeller Sound, A High-pitched Zzzzzz That Hummed Along My Skin. I Watched Their Wings Shining Like Bits Of Chrome In The Dark And Felt The Longing Build In My Chest. The Way Those Bees Flew, Not Even Looking For A Flower, Just Flying For The Feel Of The Wind, Split My Heart Down Its Seam.

Every Human Being On The Face Of The Earth Has A Steel Plate In His Head, But If You Lie Down Now And Then And Get Still As You Can, It Will Slide Open Like Elevator Doors, Letting In All The Secret Thoughts That Have Been Standing Around So Patiently, Pushing The Button For A Ride To The Top. The Real Troubles In Life Happen When Those Hidden Doors Stay Closed For Too Long.