All Of A Writer That Matters Is

If I Was Bound For Hell, Let It Be Hell. No More False Heaven. No More Damned Magic.

I Am Empty Of Everything. I Am Empty Of Everything But The Thin, Frail Ghosts In My Room.

Human Beings Are Struggling, And So They Are Egoists. But It's Wrong To Say That They Are Wholy Cruel - It's A Deformed View.

A Room? A Nice Room? A Beautiful Room? A Beautiful Room With Bath? Swing High, Swing Low, Swing To And Fro...this Happened And That Happened... And Then The Days Came And I Was Alone.

When He Talked His Eyes Went Away From Mine And Then He Forced Himself To Look Straight At Me And He Began To Explain And I Knew That He Felt Very Strange With Me And That He Hated Me, And It Was Funny Sitting There And Talking Like That, Knowing He Hated Me.