She burns her wrists with menthols; she says it's too much effort to cut them. Besides, it's more fun.

Leaving this black and white world for a world full of color, /in search of that endless summer.

I go with the wind, like the smoke of this Marlboro red as it dances among the palm trees.

Hands and fingers feeling down Cross the boundaries I laid

We dig up conscience-tunnels, pluck the play-flower of present choice for fun, run aground, past this dimly lit, though not to be underestimated, stage, and open door upon empty door, to nothing, for the lights are a pulse flickering in the perceptual per

Those nights of using crickets chirping as our lullaby as we laid on the soft grass, feeling weightless; our heads vacant of thoughts, but our hearts never more full.

It made him feel better to imagine she was someone else, someone he didn't know. This comfort bothered him

The retina was burning, the liquid had dried up, and the veins bursting. My eyes bled. But I kept them open. The sound was like nails on glass, screeching endlessly. Coming close to me louder, harder, faster.