That’s what I do: I make coffee and occasionally succumb to suicidal nihilism. But you shouldn’t worry — poetry is still first. Cigarettes and alcoho… - Anne Sexton

Yes I try to kill myself in small amounts, an innocuous occupation. Actually I’m hung up on it.

the thing with October is, I think, it somehow gets in your very blood. Unapologetically. Almost ruthlessly.

Do you like me?”
No answer.
Silence bounced, fell off his tongue
and sat between us
and clogged my throat.
It slaughtered my trust.
It tore cigarettes out of my mouth.
We exchanged blind words,
and I did not cry,
I did not beg,
but blackness filled my ears,
blackness lunged in my heart,
and something that had been good,
a sort of kindly oxygen,
turned into a gas oven.