I Myself Am Hell; Nobody's Here

But Sometimes Everything I Write With The Threadbare Art Of My Eye Seems A Snapshot

Wallowing In This Bloody Sty, I Cast For Fish That Pleased My Eye

The World Is Absolutely Out Of Control Now And Is Not Going To Be Saved By Any Reason Or Unreason.

It's The Light Of The Oncoming Train.

In The End, Every Hypochondriac Is His Own Prophet.