We Can Sometimes Recognize The

I Knew I Would Always Want To Go On Living With Myself, However Hollow I Became, However Diseased.

He Is Solid; Immovable, Iron-willed. He Showed Me One Day His Killing Bottle. I'm Imprisoned In It. Fluttering Against The Glass. Because I Can See Through It I Still Think I Can Escape. I Have Hope. But It's All An Illusion. A Thick Round Wall Of Glass.

When You Draw Something It Lives And When You Photograph It It Dies

We All Write Poems; It Is Simply That Poets Are The Ones Who Write In Words.

There Are Two Kinds Of Hangover: In One You Feel Ill And Incapable, In The Other You Feel Ill And Lucid.