We were skipping across
Hollywood Boulevard...

Banish these boats;
there is no room in my harbor...

September always arrives
with a sense of dreary...

I've made Hell feel like home-
and it's the closest thing to...

Knowledge is a
prison...

I am the lost art amongst a
sea of authors...

The ashes from my cigarette
fall intermittently and mix...

July has arrived with heated
winds and cheery...

Your name still picks holes
between my ribs...

A teary-eyed half moon
is smeared low across...

Bankrupt eyes are
fixated heavenward...

Listless days have played out
like endless eons...