Most People's Deaths Are A

I Had No Interests. I Had No Interest In Anything. I Had No Idea How I Was Going To Escape. At Least The Others Had Some Taste For Life. They Seemed To Understand Something That I Didn’t Understand. Maybe I Was Lacking. It Was Possible. I Often Felt Inferior. I Just Wanted To Get Away From Them. But There Was No Place To Go. Suicide? Jesus Christ, Just More Work. I Felt Like Sleeping For Five Years But They Wouldn’t Let Me.

Each Man's Hell Is In A Different Place: Mine Is Just Up And Behind My Ruined Face.

We Don’t Even Ask Happiness, Just A Little Less Pain.

My Beerdrunk Soul Is Sadder Than All The Dead Christmas Trees Of The World.

If I Never See You Again I Will Always Carry You Inside Outside On My Fingertips And At Brain Edges And In Centers Centers Of What I Am Of What Remains.