Being In The Library Is So Addictive

I Felt Like An Undeveloped Photograph That He Was Printing, My Image Rising To The Surface Under His Gaze.

After All The Fears, The Warnings, After All, A Woman's Mistakes Are Different From A Girl's. They Are Written By Fire On Stone. They Are A Trait And Not An Error.

It Wasn't Awful To Be Dead. The Stillness Would Almost Be A Relief. She Wouldn't Want Pain, She Wouldn't Want To Be Wounded Or Mutilated. She Could Never Shoot Herself Or Jump Off A Building. But Being Dead Wasn't Unthinkable.

His Voice Was Cloves And Nightingales, It Took Us To Spice Markets In The Celebs, We Drifted With Him On A Houseboat Beyond The Coral Sea. We Were Like Cobras Following A Reed Flute.

She Would Buy Magic Every Day Of The Week. Love Me, That Face Said. I'm So Lonely, So Desperate. I'll Give You Whatever You Want.