It's A Little Mad, But I Believe

The Joy That Isn't Shared Dies Young.

I’ll Put It Out There: I Am Scarred By The Nostalgic Indicipherability Of My Own Desires; I An Engulfed By The Intimidating Unknown, Pushed Through Darkness And Dragged Down By The Irretrievable Past Sweetness Of My Memories.

Poets Are Sitting In My Kitchen. Why Do These Poets Lie? Why Do Children Get Children And Did You Hear What It Said?

I Raise My Pelvis To God So That It May Know The Truth Of How Flowers Smash Through The Long Winter.

I Am Stuffing Your Mouth With Your Promises And Watching You Vomit Them Out Upon My Face.