A Day Without An Argument Is Like

What Would The Daughters Of The Rich Do With Themselves If The Poor Ceased To Exist?

Vengeful As Nature Herself, She Loves Her Children Only In Order To Devour Them Better And If She Herself Rips Her Own Veils Of Self-deceit, Mother Perceives In Herself Untold Abysses Of Cruelty As Subtle As It Is Refined.

I Drew The Curtains To Conceal The Sight Of My Father's Farewell; My Spite Was Sharp As Broken Glass.

There Was A House We All Had In Common And It Was Called The Past, Even Though We'd Lived In Different Rooms.

Reciprocity Of Sensation Is Not Possible Because To Share Is To Be Robbed.