We Have No Home, She

No Matter Where I Was, My Compass Pointed West. I Would Always Know What Time It Was In California.

Death Like A Lover, Caressing Him, Promising Him Peace, Running Its Fingers Through His Hair, Its Tongue In His Ear. She Put Her Own Two Fingers In Her Mouth. Im So Sorry. And Pulled The Trigger

I Use My Fiction To Explore My Own Unconscious Issues. I Usually Don't Even Know What's Going On With Me Until I'm Writing.

I've Told You, Nobody Becomes An Artist Unless They Have To.

After All The Fears, The Warnings, After All, A Woman's Mistakes Are Different From A Girl's. They Are Written By Fire On Stone. They Are A Trait And Not An Error.