Family, Like Arsenic, Works Best In Small

Things Rarely Get Fixed The Way They Need To Be.

The Way You're Singing In Your Sleep The Way You Look Before You Leap The Strange Illusions That You Keep You Don't Know But I'm Noticing The Way Your Touch Turns Into Arcs The Way You Slide Into The Dark The Beating Of My Open Heart You Don't Know But I'm Noticing

This Might Be The Happy Ending Without The Ending

A Sound Waiting To Be A Word.

Happiness Is So Rarely A Part Of My Vocabulary, Because For Me It's So Fleeting