If I Was Going To Fall, I

There Must Be Quite A Few Things That A Hot Bath Won't Cure, But I Don't Know Many Of Them.

Cold Glass, How You Insert Yourself Between Myself And Myself. I Scratch Like A Cat. The Blood That Runs Is Dark Fruit- An Effect, A Cosmetic. You Smile. No, It Is Not Fatal.

Only I Wasn't Steering Anything, Not Even Myself.

O Heart, Such Disorganization!

Can A Selfish Egocentric Jealous And Unimaginative Female Write A Damn Thing Worthwhile?