The Lawn Was White With Doctors

In A Rabbit-fear I May Hurl Myself Under The Wheels Of The Car Because The Lights Terrify Me, And Under The Dark Blind Death Of Wheels I Will Be Safe. I Am Very Tired, Very Banal, Very Confused. I Do Not Know Who I Am Tonight. I Wanted To Walk Until I Dropped And Not Complete The Inevitable Circle Of Coming Home.

I Feel Terribly Vulnerable And 'not-myself' When I'm Not Writing.

I Must Not Be Selfless: Develop A Sense Of Self. A Solidness That Can't Be Attacked.

I Am Not Cruel, Only Truthful.

Can A Selfish Egocentric Jealous And Unimaginative Female Write A Damn Thing Worthwhile?