You Are Locked Into Your Suffering And

All The Lousy Little Poets Coming Around Trying To Sound Like Charles Manson.

You Who Wish To Conquer Pain, You Must Learn What Makes One Kind.

Seven To Eleven Is A Huge Chunk Of Life, Full Of Dulling And Forgetting. It Is Fabled That We Slowly Lose The Gift Of Speech With Animals, That Birds No Longer Visit Our Windowsills To Converse. As Our Eyes Grow Accustomed To Sight They Armor Themselves Against Wonder.

[prozac] Didn't Seem To Have Any Effect Whatsoever On My Melancholy, My Dark Vision, And Everything Else That I'd Taken It For.

If You Want A Lover I'll Do Anything You Ask Me To. And If You Want Another Kind Of Love I'll Wear A Mask For You.