I May Have Made A

All The Heat And Fear Had Purged Itself. I Felt Surprisingly At Peace. The Bell Jar Hung Suspended A Few Feet Above My Head. I Was Open To The Circulating Air.

My Worst Habit Is My Fear & My Destructive Rationalizing.

We Stayed At Home To Write, To Consolidate Our Outstretched Selves.

To The Person In The Bell Jar, Blank And Stopped As A Dead Baby, The World Itself Is A Bad Dream.

The Worst Enemy To Creativity Is Self-doubt.