You Can Still Die When The Sun

Can't Bring Back Time. Like Holding Water In Your Hand.

(...) You Cruel Creature, Little Mite Of A Thing With A Heart The Size Of A Fullstop.

The Swift December Dusk Had Come Tumbling Clownishly After Its Dull Day And, As He Stared Through The Dull Square Of The Window Of The Schoolroom, He Felt His Belly Crave For Its Food. He Hoped There Would Be Stew For Dinner, Turnips And Carrots And Bruised Potatoes And Fat Mutton Pieces To Be Ladled Out In Thick Peppered Flourfattened Sauce. Stuff It Into You, His Belly Counselled Him.

Heart Of My Heart, Were It More, More Would Be Laid At Your Feet.

He Thought That He Was Sick In His Heart If You Could Be Sick In That Place.