My eyes are bloodshot from being busy.

The evening in bed with red lipstick and Opera, looking insane, feeling hollow.

I had chicken and vegetable soup and a cup of tea. The house is empty and my mind is ticking, ticking.

I want a cream volvo, with flowers lining the back window. I want it to get so hot in summer, that our heads hang out the rusty windows as we tempt fate.

I wish I could remember what I liked but I like nothing and nothing likes me.

She ate rose petals, because they tasted like her soul, bitter.

It's overcast and there is a chill in the air. I haven't done anything today. In a minute or three, I'll hang the washing. There are blackbirds in the tree and I know, whatever I do, will hurt you.