If I Get Home, I'll

What? My Head Doctor Says I'm Not Supposed To Censor My Thoughts. It's Part Of My Therapy.

It Means Thanks, It Means Admiration, It Means Good-bye To Someone You Love.

It’s Not Wondering What I Breathe In, But Who, That Threatens To Choke Me.

I Never See These Things Coming. They Happen Too Fast. One Second You're Proposing An Escape Plan And The Next...

Charred Bits Of Black Silk Swirl Into The Air, And Pearls Clatter To The Stage… I’m In A Dress Of The Exact Design Of My Wedding Dress, Only It’s The Color Of Coal And Made Of Tiny Feathers. Wonderingly, I Lift My Long, Flowing Sleeves Into The Air, And That’s When I See Myself On The Television Screen. Clothed In Black Except For The White Patches On My Sleeves. Or Should I Say My Wings. Because Cinna Had Turned Me Into A Mockingjay.