Kapımızı çalan yok, dilencilerden başka
Tek bir satır mektup gelmiyor hiç kimseden
Sokaklara çıkıp da boşuna bir şeyleri arama
Görmezden geliyor seni, eskiden gözlerinin içine giren
My mind is out to kill me, and I know it. I am constantly filled with a lurking loneliness, a yearning, clinging to the notion that something outside of me will fix me. But I had had all that the outside had to offer!
I’ve heard people claim that the worst pain is childbirth: well, this was the worst pain imaginable, but without the joy of a newborn in my arms at the end of it.