The dead pull the living down.

We're all hunters in my family, you know. Deer, ducks_damsels.

When a Wanderess has been caged, or perched with her wings clipped, She lives like a Stoic, She lives most heroic, smiling with ruby, moistened lips once her cup of Death is welcome sipped.

There would be no salvaging this. I was going to die a spinster with cobwebs feasting on my vagina, I just knew it.

Forgive me, God, for I'm about to sin like fuck.

It was dark now, and broodingly sluggish. Like something supine waiting to spring, with just the tip of its tail twitching. Leaves stood still on the trees. An evil green star glinted in the black sky like a hostile eye, like an evil spying eye.("For The Rest Of Her Life")