I hear the filaments of alabaster. I would lie down with them and lift my madness off like a wig. I would lie outside in a room of wool and let the snow cover me. I am empty. I am witless.
Death is here.
There is no other settlement. Meanwhile you pour tea with your handsome gentle hands. I'd like to take a corkscrew and screw out all your brains and you'd never be back ever. And I close my eyes over the steaming tea and see God opening His teeth. Oh, my dear, not why.