Blessed are the weird people-Poets, misfits, writers, mystics, painters, troubadours, for they teach us to see the world through different eyes. -Jacob Nordby- |
My heart
filleted by your...
Your soul found mine-
it snuck up on me...
Your words
ease my soul...
And then
suddenly you...
I want to write my eulogy painted on a tin roof
of over-emphasized lyricists drowning in fervor...
Would it be too much,
too soon to live these thoughts...
It has occurred to her that she is a hallway girl.
Not a room to lounge in but a passage from one...
If being loved makes you uncomfortable,
you're more screwed up than I am...
The thick, contaminated vapor of your world causes...
I lost my ability to think for myself...
One day I might quit this obsession.
Quite sooner than you all think...
The trials and tribulations in your life do not build character. They reveal it. |
Music, like religion, unconditionally brings in its train, all the moral virtues to the heart it enters, even though that heart is not in the least worthy. |
The wastebasket is a writers best friend. |