I wonder, with all the flowers in the garden, how many of them ever think of hanging themselves with the garden hose, if ever they can.

Sometimes we are that fly in the house, that thinks it sees an open window. So it crawls to, or flies head-on into clear glass. At times getting stuck between the storm and pane, it dies in the windowsill under a tormenting, hot sun.

Most people give up finding their soul mate, and settle down to just having a flesh mate.

Death takes in many people, but still lives alone.

Sometimes I wonder, that one missing sock after doing laundry, is the smart one. After being unhappy for so long, it finally walks away from a frayed, worn-out relationship.

I dreamed of dying, long before my dreams have died.