Blue Eyes Wash Off Sometimes.

Oh Thumb, I Want A Drink It Is Dark, Where Are The Big People, When Will I Get There...?

Suicide Is, After All, The Opposite Of The Poem.

One Can't Build Little White Picket Fences To Keep Nightmares Out.

It's A Little Mad, But I Believe I Am Many People. When I Am Writing A Poem, I Feel I Am The Person Who Should Have Written It.

I Put The Gold Star Up In The Front Window Beside The Flag. Alterations Is What I Know And What I Did: Hems, Gussets And Seams.