There are days when the sun itself seems to sit in judgement over me. It's awful when those times come, because in here all is empty and cheap, but out there the light exposes everything. I can't allow it to expose me.
Not when I'm so like the yellow house. On the outer walls a pretense is made at dignity, even stateliness, but inside is corruption, cowardice, duplicity, hatred. If the rays' cruel fingers were allowed to rest upon my shoulder, they'd tear me open and the whole reeking carcass would collapse in on itself.
I want to leave this yellow house. And I never want to be a yellow house again.