Writers Are Also Sort Of Like Vultures,

Wanna Rock You, Girl, With A Butterfly Tunic. / No, I'm Not Gay, I'm Just Your Emo Enuch. / Gonna Smile Real Shy, Won't Cop A Feel, / 'cause I'm Your Virgin Crush, Your Supersafe Deal. / Let Those Other Guys Keep Sexing. / You And Me, We Be Texting / 'bout Unicorns And Rainbows And Our Perfect Love. / Girl, We Fit Together Like A Hand In A Glove. / Now I Don't Mean That Nasty, Tell Your Mum Don't Get Mad. / I Even Wrote 'you're Awesome' On Your Maxi Pads.

Hey,” The Cabbie Yelled. “how’s About A Tip?” “you Bet-ski,” Evie Said, Heading Toward The Old Victorian Mansion, Her Long Silk Scarf Trailing Behind Her. “don’t Kiss Strange Men In Penn Station.

All The Small, Simple, Conscious Acts Of Living A Sudden Defense Against The Dying We Do Every Day.

Life Don’t Come To You, Memphis. You Gotta Take It. We Have To Take It. Because Ain’t Nobody Handing It To Us.

And Just As I Begin To Believe That All Is Well, There Is Some Subtle Change In The Light. The Room Takes Its True Shape. I Fight To Go Back To That Blissful Ignorance, But It Is Too Late. The Dull Pain Of Truth Weights My Soul, Pulling It Under. I Am Left Hopelessly Awake.