I take small bites like a stomach locked in a corset my heart, too is trapped under a vice I do not make a pig of myself I give my eyes a sense but not a solid reality why linger in this tomb (you see the moment we met he was already dead to me) Love my dear is a eulogy Buy the cheapest box and move on Cardboard Victorian The last of that model and would it be pretentious to have my stone inscribed: The wallpaper was killing me ?