It Was The Eyes. The Secret Of

A Flower Blooms Best In A Happy Pot.

It Is So Appropriate To Color Hope Yellow, Like The Sun We Seldom Saw. And As I Begin To Copy From The Old Memorandum Journals That I Kept For So Long, A Title Comes As If Inspired. 'open The Window And Stand In The Sunshine.' Yet, I Hesitate To Name Our Story That. For I Think Of Us More As Flowers In The Attic.

You Are The Most Dangerous Kind Of Female The World Can Ever Know. You Carry The Seeds For Your Own Destruction And The Destruction Of Everyone Who Loves You. And A Great Many Will Love You For Your Beautiful Face For Your Seductive Body; But You Will Fail Them All Because You Will Believe They All Fail You First. You Are An Idealist Of The Worst Kind - The Romantic Idealist. Born To Destroy And Self Destruct.

Angel, Saint, Devil's Spawn, Good Or Evil, You've Got Me Pinned To The Wall And Labeled As Yours Until The Day I Die. And If You Die First, Then It Won't Be Long Before I Follow.

After It's All Over, The Early Childhood, A Chain Of Birthdays Woven With Candlelight, Piles Of Presents, Voices Of Relatives Singing And Praising Your Promise And Future, After The Years Of Schooling, Fitting Yourself Into Different Size Desks, Memorizing, Reciting, Reporting, And Performing For Jury After Jury Of Teachers, Counselors, And Administrators, You Still Feel Inadequate, Alone, Vulnerable, And Naked In A World That Can Be Unforgiving And Terribly Demanding.