That Is Salvation. To Give Of Love

And I Sit Here Without Identity: Faceless. My Head Aches.

I Wanted Change And Excitement And To Shoot Off In All Directions Myself, Like The Colored Arrows From A Fourth Of July Rocket.

If You Expect Nothing From Anybody, You’re Never Disappointed.

Some Pale, Hueless Flicker Of Sensitivity Is In Me. God, Must I Lose It In Cooking Scrambled Eggs For A Man.

I Must Not Be Selfless: Develop A Sense Of Self. A Solidness That Can't Be Attacked.