There’s something real ******* intimidating about a blank white screen.
It’s like there’s a glaring eye in every pixel,
and the cursor, in its intervals, stands stiff and haughty,

blinking again and again like a demand or like a question--
how, why,
                  when, what, why, why?

Camellia, you’re crazy;
          Camellia, you’re lost;

Camellia, there’s ***** beneath your bed—
lock the door and stop answering your phone.