I’ll Never Speak To God Again.

God, How I Ricochet Between Certainties And Doubts.

Perhaps Some Day I'll Crawl Back Home, Beaten, Defeated. But Not As Long As I Can Make Stories Out Of My Heartbreak, Beauty Out Of Sorrow.

But I Wasn't Sure. I Wasn't Sure At All. How Did I Know That Someday―at College, In Europe, Somewhere, Anywhere―the Bell Jar, With Its Stifling Distortions, Wouldn't Descend Again?

The Worst Enemy To Creativity Is Self-doubt.

To Annihilate The World By Annihilation Of Oneself Is The Deluded Height Of Desperate Egoism.