You've Only Got So Long To Live.

I Must Get My Soul Back From You; I Am Killing My Flesh Without It.

What Have I Eaten? Lies And Smiles.

I Smile, Now, Thinking: We All Like To Think We Are Important Enough To Need Psychiatrists

And I, Stepping From This Skin Of Old Bandages, Boredoms, Old Faces Step To You From The Black Car Of Lethe, Pure As A Baby.

Writing, Then, Was A Substitute For Myself: If You Don't Love Me, Love My Writing & Love Me For My Writing. It Is Also Much More: A Way Of Ordering And Reordering The Chaos Of Experience.