At some point we all have to grow up.
Stop applying Chapstick and those dehydrated chapped lips will tell you what's what.
Dear cat, I am the spider. I turned you into my fly.
You don't even realize.
You were the apple of my eye.
Write, write, write.
Ticky-ticky, come on in.
I finished a painting, 15 years in the making. And just on time.
I am 12, and two hundred and ten.
When you don't need the attention, attention-seeking looks like true sin.
I sleep to Alan Watts and Ram Dass.
I want to hear from more enlightened women.
Complacence is the warning.
I find myself holding in a ribcage at moments requiring patience.
Like a friend I've settled on again.
In the face of a charging dog, I'm calm.
In the face of a charging dog, I don't back off.
Arms open wide, "come on in," and I'll tear you to shreds with love.
Another dose of Cerebrolysin.
It's a smart thing not to show all your bank notes.
“I bet you're a millionaire. You’re just pretending to be poor to find the love of your life.”
Yes. The things we believe with wide-eyed childish pride.
“Eyes open wide.” Said the spider to its fly.
