Your dissatisfaction is my sanctuary.
The familiarity of sadness is a strange cold comfort.
I crave it.
In its absence I am hollow and shallowly happy.
But in my words do I cry out to my muse:
Muse! Muse! sad and broken though you are, yet my soul depends on you!
If you leave me so you do me wrong!
But happiness seeps down through my being—
I tried to cry and found my eyes treacherously dry.
Sometimes for the greater good, child, sacrifices must be made.
But I do not make sacrifices.
I am one.
I who walk alone and think alone and am alone.
I am not alone.
I become an extrovert.
I am ruined by happiness, oh Irony! Irony!
My only love sprung from my only hate.
All the way to the Garden State
Out of Cape Cod tonight.