To The Person In The Bell Jar,

One Thing, I Try To Be Honest. And What Is Revealed Is Often Rather Hideously Unflattering.

I Like You, But Not Too Much. I Don’t Want To Like Anybody Too Much.

Not Being Perfect Hurts.

I Am Accused. I Dream Of Massacres. I Am A Garden Of Black And Red Agonies. I Drink Them, Hating Myself, Hating And Fearing. And Now The World Conceives Its End And Runs Toward It, Arms Held Out In Love.

I Think Writers Are The Most Narcissistic People. Well, I Musn't Say This, I Like Many Of Them, A Great Many Of My Friends Are Writers.