I Use My Fiction To

Just Because A Poet Said Something Didn’t Mean It Was True, Only That It Sounded Good.

Like A Kid Kicked Out Of Class. Humiliated And Free.

In A Perverse Way, I Was Glad For The Stitches, Glad It Would Show, That There Would Be Scars. What Was The Point In Just Being Hurt On The Inside? It Should Bloody Well Show.

A Book's Flaws Make It Less Predictable.

Loneliness Is The Human Condition. Cultivate It. The Way It Tunnels Into You Allows Your Soul Room To Grow.