We Are All Born Equally Far From

The Scornful Force Of His Tone Turned The Word Into A Curse

Nothing Endures. Not A Tree. Not Love. Not Even Death By Violence.

But I Was Used To Finding Something Deadly In Things That Attracted Me; There Was Always Something Deadly Lurking In Anything I Wanted, Anything I Loved.

Sarcasm Is The Protest Of The Weak.

As I Walked Briskly Out The Road The Wind Knifed At My Face, But This Sun Caressed The Back Of My Neck.