Aloneness And Selfness Are Too Important To

Aloneness And Selfness Are Too Important To Betray For Company.

But Writing Poems And Letters Doesn't Seem To Do Much Good.

The Slime Of All My Yesterdays Rots In The Hollow Of My Skull.

But When It Came Right Down To It, The Skin Of My Wrist Looked So White And Defenseless That I Couldn't Do It.

How Can I Tell Bob That My Happiness Streams From Having Wrenched A Piece Out Of My Life, A Piece Of Hurt And Beauty, And Transformed It To Typewritten Words On Paper? How Can He Know I Am Justifying My Life, My Keen Emotions, My Feeling, By Turning It Into Print?