You know, we queens loathed rain at the beach, small cocks, and reality, I think. In that order.
Dancer from the DanceShe must face the forest of her mother’s past in order to save herself and the one she loves.
The Dead-Tossed WavesDeeds need time, even after they are done, in order to be seen or heard.
The Gay Science: with a Prelude in Rhymes and an Appendix of SongsWe die, you die. You die, we survive. I think there’s a pecking order in that, don’t you?
Blood Roses