We In Purgatory Sing Fondly Of Hell.

Death Is The Mother Of Beauty.

The First Kiss Plummeted Him Down A Hole And Popped Him Out Into A World He Thought He Could Get Along In—as If He’d Been Pulling Hard The Wrong Way And Was Now Turned Around Headed Downstream.

They Needed To Share One Secret After Another With A Beautiful Woman, To Peel Away Layer After Layer, Mask After Mask, And Still Find Themselves Worshiped.

All These Weirdos, And Me Getting A Little Better Every Day Right In The Midst Of Them. I Had Never Known, Never Even Imagined For A Heartbeat, That There Might Be A Place For People Like Us.

In My Writing, I Want To Be Laid Bare As A Human Being.