The Sheets Grow Heavy As A Lecher's

I Talk To God But The Sky Is Empty.

Go Out And Do Something. It Isn’t Your Room That’s A Prison, It’s Yourself.

The Floor Seemed Wonderfully Solid. It Was Comforting To Know I Had Fallen And Could Fall No Farther.

Spiderlike, I Spin Mirrors, Loyal To My Image.

For The Few Little Successes I May Seem To Have, There Are Acres Of Misgivings And Self-doubt.