“Oh,lift me as a wave,a leaf,a cloud! I fall upon the thorns of life!I bleed!”

“I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed !”

“I Fall upon the thorns of life....”

“I fall upon the thorns of life, I bleed. And then? I fall upon the thorns of life, I bleed. And what next? I get laid, I take a short holiday, but very soon after I fall upon those same thorns with gratification in pain, or suffering in joy - who knows what the mixture is! What good, what lasting good is there in me? Is there nothing else between birth and death but what I can get out of this perversity - only a favorable balance of disorderly emotions? No freedom? Only impulses? And what about all the good I have in my heart - does it mean anything? Is it simply a joke? A false hope that makes a man feel the illusion of worth? And so he goes on with his struggles. But this good is no phony. I know it isn't. I swear it.”

“It seems only yesterday that I used to believe there was nothing under my skin but light. If you cut me I would shine. But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life, I skin my knees. I bleed.”

“Lifting, smiling back at her giggle, her relief, I tease, “If you want to bleed sweetheart, I can make you bleed. I promise if I do it will be way more fun.”