from the journal:

(1.) He will only listen when  I am silent. As soon as I open my mouth to refute, I can tell he is somewhere else. He would press his palms to my lips, and I could smell his sweat, his skin, his power. I felt my throat filling with cobwebs. I tried to cough them up, but they have started to become a part of me. I’ve forgotten the sound of my voice – I can’t eat anymore spiders.

(2.) It will either be death, or I who will do us part. Does that make me a monster? Who takes breathe pulsing in young children – tongues dry from hospital air. Death will save them from their pain as I will release the lingering thoughts of you into a hole large enough for one.

from life:

Everything that has come out of me this last month have been forced. May has been the month of excuses. I’ve been thinking about endings a lot so it has been hard to start stories, poems, and plays. All I know is how things end. Franz Kafka has been an inspiring write since I studied him for the writer’s seminar. I find him very fascinating, but I don’t think I fancy him very much.