You Are Holding A Loaded Gun, You

Sometimes I Still Forget To Look For The Gentler Parts Of Her. For So Long All I Saw Was The Strength, Standing Out Like The Wiry Muscles In Her Arms Or The Black Ink Marking Her Collarbone With Flight.

I'll Say It One Last Time: Be Brave.

I Can’t Answer Either Question. But The Look She Gives Me Reminds Me Of The Look In The Attack Dog’s Eyes In The Aptitude Test – A Vicious, Predatory Stare. She Wants To Rip Me To Pieces. I Can’t Lie Down In Submission Now. I Have Become An Attack Dog Too.

His Eyes Search The Crowd Until They Find My Face. My Heartbeat Lives In My Throat; Lives In My Cheeks. "i Still Don't Understand," He Says Softly, "how She Knew That It Would Work.

I Know Some Things--i Know That I'm Not Alone, That I Have Friends, That I'm In Love. I Know That I Don't Want To Die, And For Me That's Something--more Than I Could Have Said A Few Weeks Ago.