You Fit Into Me Like A Hook

Yelling Is A Form Of Publishing

How Furious She Must Be, Now That She's Been Taken At Her Word.

I Am Not Your Justification For Existence.

Nobody Dies From Lack Of Sex. It's Lack Of Love We Die From.

The Alcohol Smell Is On My Fingers, Cold And Remote, Piercing Like A Steel Pin Going In. It Smells Like White Enamel Basins. When I Look Up At The Stars In The Nighttime, Cold And White And Sharp, I Think They Must Smell Like That.