What I love about writing is its schizophrenic masks
What I hate about masks is their wind-changed immobility
What I love about immobility is duvet-softened mornings
What I hate about mornings is the lazy bitch's pain
What I love about pain is its mindless physicality
What I hate about physicality is its naked vulnerability
What I love about vulnerability is its opening to his soul
What I hate about his soul is its flight away from me
What I love about me is my foolish, fearless writing
What I hate about writing is its schizophrenic masks