And What We Were Trying To Offer

Maybe He Was More Than The Sum Of His Broken Parts.

The Air Is Like Being Wanted, We Say, And They Nod Approvingly. The Air Is Like Getting Older, They Say, And They Touch Our Arms Gently.

People Are Strange, But More Than That, They're Good. They're Good First, Then Strange.

Morning Comes Like A Scream Through A Pinhole.

At That Moment I Was Sure. That I Belonged In My Skin. That My Organs Were Mine And My Eyes Were Mine And My Ears, Which Could Only Hear The Silence Of This Night And My Faint Breathing, Were Mine, And I Loved Them And What They Could Do.