Dying Is An Art, Like Everything Else.

I'm Doped And Thick From My Last Sleeping Pill.

So Many People Are Shut Up Tight Inside Themselves Like Boxes, Yet They Would Open Up, Unfolding Quite Wonderfully, If Only You Were Interested In Them.

Worse Even Than Your Maddening Song, Your Silence.

The Trouble About Jumping Was That If You Didn't Pick The Right Number Of Stories, You Might Still Be Alive When You Hit Bottom.

Winter Dawn Is The Color Of Metal, The Trees Stiffen Into Place Like Burnt Nerves.