The Death Of A Man Is Like

Two Attributes Of A Poet, Avidity Of The Eye And The Desire To Describe That Which He Sees.

Consciousness Even In My Sleep Changes Primary Colors. The Features Of My Face Melt Like A Wax Doll In The Fire. And Who Can Consent To See In The Mirror The Mere Face Of Man?

A True Opium Of The People Is A Belief In Nothingness After Death - The Huge Solace Of Thinking That For Our Betrayals, Greed, Cowardice, Murders We Are Not Going To Be Judged.

The Voice Of Passion Is Better Than The Voice Of Reason. The Passionless Cannot Change History.

Grow Your Tree Of Falsehood From A Small Grain Of Truth.