I Start To Crack At Four Hundred

I Merely Feel Emptyness. A Hollow Of Dead Brush Where Flowers Use To Bloom.

And Then, When He’s Been Underwater So Long I Feel Certain He’s Drowned, His Head Pops Up Right Next To Me And I Start. “don’t Do That,” I Say. “what? Come Up Or Stay Under?” He Says. “either. Neither. Whatever

There Are Much Worse Games To Play.

It's Lovely. If Only You Could Frost Someone To Death." "don't Be So Superior. You Can Never Tell What You Will Find In The Arena. Say It's A Gigantic Cake-

I'll Tell Them That On Bad Mornings, It Feels Impossible To Take Pleasure In Anything Because I'm Afraid It Could Be Taken Away.