…because, my friend, the unsaid is out of fashion. … More The Unsaid.
and I was, once more, a greyed out face in the background,
a ghosted silhouette, a muffled voice; forgotten, as is usual, again. … More Always.
suicide notes being mistaken for artistry … More the answers.
.she unwound her eyelids like phrases that didn’t know of a need to become statements. … More inked.
“… foeticide of our children from affairs with pain” … More induced insomnia
pain, my truest lover, has found home in me … More time to go home
. . . we sought them whose emptiness would fill our hearts . . . … More the Definition of Love