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I tattered their wings and tore off their legs, joint by joint, watched them crawl in circles, like little lost infants, untill they decide to die.

Ellen Hopkins

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Ellen Hopkins
Age: 69
Born: 1955
Born: March 26
Novelist
Writer
Long Beach
California
Ellen Louise Hopkins
Wings
Crawl
Dies
Joint
Lost
Joints
Littles
Infant
Little
Watched
Like
Circles
Tattered
Decide
Tore
Legs
Infants

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Everyone's afraid of everybody else...maybe because we're all afraid of ourselves.
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What's the point of being a hero when everyone thinks you're a villain?
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But, though I was very much in lust with him, I knew from the start we were nothing like forever. Maybe because forever is such a scary place.
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If I come back to you now, can we be what we were before life’s uncertain rhythms tore us so far apart? If I return today, will your arms gather me in, or will I be wrenched away, snatched by riptide I have no power to resist? If I find my way to you, one man standing in a crowd, will I even know who you are?
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I feel like a goddess, jailed in her Olympus. Little wonder how the gods toyed with humans. Toyed with women, to watch them squirm, pollinate the seeds of despair toyed with men, to satiate their Seven Deadly Sins.
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The wind kicks in stronger, branches clatter. Or maybe skeletons. Bones of abandonment. Ghosts that will never be.
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But death doesn't scare me. To know exactly when I might expect it, up close and in my face, would actually be a comfort. Because to tell the truth, most of the time dying seems pretty much like my only means of escape.
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Detailed descriptions, abstract ambitions, relevant observations, your's and mine.
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Alone, there is only the person inside. I've grown to like her better than the stuck-up husk of me. Alone, there is no perfect daughter, no gifted high school junior, no Kristina Georgia Snow. There is only Bree. (Ellen Hopkins)
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