Liz Belmont MY DIARY I stood over the subway grating, and as the F train rumbled underneath, my skirt billowed over my head, revealing my scabbed and scarred legs. I told them I wanted world peace. They stuck a crown on my head and shoved a bouquet in my arms. I walked down the runway, hands bloody from the thorns. The candle burned between us. I reached over to touch you, and the wax flew into your eyes. You left with the waitress. I picked at the smoldering wick.