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I called K. to see if she saw me. I wanted to know. "Did you taste my heart as you ate me?" Tart. I did it for me. I made you squirm and writhe. You were happy. You loved it. (You loved me, I'm sure.) You know… You know? You do know what you do. sweet-sweet sweet-sweet Honey-drip TART.

[Her first and last name] 5/11/92 [She gave herself an] A And Then No More... They tell me I am insane.  "A crazy old man," people say.  "-Not crazy," I tell them, "Just sick."  I've become horribly ill you see.  I have contracted this wretched disease they call life. Life the incurable disease... the only way to rid yourself of this flu is to die! Sometimes I feel guilty for being the only one who knows (and accepts) the truth; that we'll all die someday, and no one will even care to remember who we were, that someday soon, no one will even be around to remember the dead.  The last few will have joined that heaping pile of decaying soul