to reach for the pen only when you need it is a mistake you must reach for it everyday eventually it grows familiar with…
short glass of water to wash back the pills in hand last glass of water
Once I was a psychopath who took quite a shine to his ax. Many times I’d leave a blood bath… but meticulously clean, and particularly keen,
at odds with the sky I have rid myself of every feather and with my beak i have chewed off… of my wings if i am to see my dreams die
though it takes a daily muster of all you got empties you out and leaves you wanting
our savings accounts cry out for m… but we only have so much to give coins jingling away in the pocket a few dirty fives in the wallet the shelves are in need of grocery
thoughts on the police not that they are the bad guys they just work for them
youth in his favor with young wome… a whole world ahead of him but the silly son of a bitch doesn… instead of seizing the day he spends his time obsessing over…
if ever he drowns a swimmer will miss water life regrets no death
(a) his job (b) his home (c) his girl (d) his mind (e) his life
streets become narrow and sidewalks vanish layers are important heavy socks and the right pair of boots
when you’re going down the momentum is compelling to the point it almost overwhelms you at the bottom
after nineteen years she thinks of him as a fart something to air out
all of my weary and all of my woe is made into perfect sense a common thread in my favorite son… familiar tones of sadness the beauty of malaise
the darker the room the more I needed her she was scented with tobacco and cedar
