When I was younger
I thought I could fly...

Shaped by outside forces
but ruled by those within...

Martyrs of existentialism
seeking our own lost causes...

He is haunted,
they whisper behind my back...

In the sanctuary of night
the world is a little closer...

Clouds roll gently overhead
billowy puffs of fluff...

Waking--
there are wolf tracks...

The decline of civilization is
angels ejaculating their rage...

Love is a many splintered thing,
shards shock like tiny bolts...

Absence makes the heart go wander,
as if falling, falling...

A pariah
of my own Parnassus...

The day is a blue dream
you haven't felt since childhood...