Are The Dead As Lonesome

That's All A Writer Has To Write About - What He Sees And Hears And What Not.

You're Wonderful. Unique. I Love You.

I'd Rather Have Cancer Than A Dishonest Heart. Which Isn't Being Pious. Just Practical. Cancer May Cool You, But The Other's Sure To.

Of Many Magics, One Is Watching A Beloved Sleep: Free Of Eyes And Awareness, You For A Sweet Moment Hold The Heart Of Him; Helpless, He Is Then All, And However Irrationally, You Have Trusted Him To Be, Man-pure, Child-tender.

I Couldn't Understand A Sense Of Unease That Multiplied Until I Could Hear My Heart Beating.