At Last Awake From Life, That Insane

Poetry, Like Love, Is Something We Never Truly Say Goodbye To.

What I Aspired To Be And Was Not, Comforts Me.

Over My Head His Arm He Flung, Against The World.

You Should Not Take A Fellow Eight Years Old And Make Him Swear To Never Kiss The Girls.

How Sad And Bad And Mad It Was - But Then, How It Was Sweet