I am lost at sea. I don't want to be found, yet; I must drink the whole thing, first. I am starving myself to death again. But also, there are songs. You can come here, if you like, to the center of the storm, where I am lying leisurely, half-clothed, surrounded by werewolves and winged fish. Put blueberries between my lips, and ask me to chew. Give me one hundred names. Tell me I am pretty. I still love you, but I cannot hear you from inside here.