How Hard It Must Be To Live

What Really Counted Was The Possibility Of Escape, A Leap To Freedom, Out Of The Implacable Ritual, A Wild Run For It That Would Give Whatever Chance For Hope There Was. Of Course, Hope Meant Being Cut Down On Some Street Corner, As You Ran Like Mad, By A Random Bullet. But When I Really Thought It Through, Nothing Was Going To Allow Me Such A Luxury. Everything Was Against It; I Would Just Be Caught Up In The Machinery Again.

I Felt The Urge To Reassure Him That I Was Like Everybody Else, Just Like Everybody Else.

I Have Never Been Able To Renounce The Light, The Pleasure Of Being, And The Freedom In Which I Grew Up.

Even When One Sits In The Prisoner's Dock, It Is Interesting To Hear Talk About Oneself.

Should I Kill Myself, Or Have A Cup Of Coffee?