Blue Eyes Wash Off Sometimes.

You Who Have Inhabited Me In The Deepest And Most Broken Place, Are Going, Going

I Grow Old On My Bitterness.

It Is A Dead Heart. It Is Inside Of Me. It Is A Stranger Yet Once It Was Agreeable, Opening And Closing Like A Clam.

Writers Are Such Phonies: They Sometimes Have Wise Insights But They Don't Live By Them At All. That's What Writers Are Like...you Think They Know Something, But Usually They Are Just Messes.

God Owns Heaven But He Craves The Earth.