And I raged against my side of th… Only a howling wind to cover my ra… I struck the wood with fists blood… A useless endeavor, unforgivingly… I grew tired of reflections

It is a good thing to have words melted at the sunset. Beyond sense, sybaritic,

I swear if I have to read one more poem of someone cutting themselves I’m going to cut myself. Really deep.

The humming of the electrical wire… gently existing outside my window as the birds lay alongside there, napping

Alas my fellow poets, have I foun… amongst your fold: fellow stoics,… Kindred in spirit and dreamers of… Oh sweet apathy, I write of your… Oh lady I will be your beer speak…

I keep seeing them out of shadows they creep, men in black robes.

I thought of the right words. Sitting on a stool, ready to take my laundry from out of the dryer. My vision is accosted by a

There’s four of them, circling aro… not doing or thinking of tomorrow. Just simple thoughts and words sha… to each other. Today yet another d… Dressed mostly in black, with rand…

The language I live in is a playground of excessive expression. Fitted to the guiles of love and the rascal finishes

I have something to say about deci… if I were to make them all the time, might find a certain sense of resolute truth. The mind wanders to and fro,

Remember when shots were stolen, foreign dreams left melted in the chamber. Left fulfilled

Why choose misery over the joy found when mugs on the table hide their secrets and pour out everything

Strength of the mighty ocean couldn’t calm existence the pressu… nor violence by which we all measu… Sometimes the only definition of m… Like crossing the Rubicon,