Real Tenderness Can't Be Confused,

There Is A Sacred, Secret Line In Loving Which Attraction And Even Passion Cannot Cross.

I Myself, From The Very Beginning, Seemed To Myself Like Someone's Dream Or Delirium Or A Reflection In Someone Else's Mirror, Without Flesh, Without Meaning, Without A Name. Already I Knew The List Of Crimes That I Was Destined To Commit.

All Has Been Looted, Betrayed, Sold; Black Death's Wing Flashed Ahead.

Sunset In The Ethereal Waves: I Cannot Tell If The Day Is Ending, Or The World, Or If The Secret Of Secrets Is Inside Me Again.

The Word Landed With A Stony Thud Onto My Still-beating Breast. Nevermind, I Was Prepared, I Will Manage With The Rest. I Have A Lot Of Work To Do Today; I Need To Slaughter Memory, Turn My Living Soul To Stone Then Teach Myself To Live Again. . . But How. The Hot Summer Rustles Like A Carnival Outside My Window; I Have Long Had This Premonition Of A Bright Day And A Deserted House.