At first, I was the reveling masq… In a dozen wanton nights, with a lack of fright for social a… I sought to receive. I sought to breath

Why choose misery over the joy found when mugs on the table hide their secrets and pour out everything

It’s loud here. Friday darkness, with voices clamoring over the clinking of plates and utensils.

Creating, condemning, piercing my skin with a rough sketch, tattoo ink and a clueless reminder found within every pore.

If I could pray, I would pray that you all enjoy your lives. Final, but not ultimate, enjoyment of the self and restlessness.

I am in the city of dead arisen, surrounded by saints and sinners; some safer in cars, cardboard pack… in halcyon piles to suffocate the… For others, houses blow in the win…

In front of the eager class stood the fool who had been hand-picked by the professor to share

I view death as my friend. Sitting on my bed, playing a guitar for a weeping woman who has just lost a child. I view life as a mustard seed.

The feeling came again. Love or Lust? Neither I hope, I hate writing of love. It invokes a powerlessness

Menacing clouds break thunder with three snaps, and the clock down the hall strikes three chords in the hallowed night.

On the shoulders of giants, I stood defiant. Everything about me is original Except I did not create: the language I speak

I wish my memories were translated… Reflections of my life, entranced in melody, I wonder how they would sound. The music of my memories...

The language I live in is a playground of excessive expression. Fitted to the guiles of love and the rascal finishes