I Think Of Myself As Writing For

The Future Is A Fog That Is Still Hanging Out Over The Sea, A Boat That Floats Home Or Does Not.

Today Life Opened Inside Me Like An Egg.

All I Wanted Was A Little Piece Of Life, To Be Married, To Have Children.... I Was Trying My Damnedest To Lead A Conventional Life, For That Was How I Was Brought Up, And It Was What My Husband Wanted Of Me. But One Can't Build Little White Picket Fences To Keep The Nightmares Out.

Suicide Is, After All, The Opposite Of The Poem.

Blue Eyes Wash Off Sometimes.