But now that I’m scrubbingtoilets on my hands & knees,with four degrees,I realize that one escape routeleads to another
There’s a universalunderstanding betweenmen of the silent sorrowa man endures whenhe loses a woman heloves
and tonight we held each other, one last time,like a dance to aslow songon an empty floor, underneath a singledisco ballin front of no oneat all
Two kinds ofpeople will love you:those who confessit, and those whoshow you, likecards on a table,because love isa gamble
AdiosHer pretty picturelying on theground was likethe topplingof somefascistregimeAnd burningthe photograph,was thecelebration
Fear is the vehicle in which love can do its worst.
And somewhereout there,in the river ofaddicts, alcoholics,wife beaters,doormats,overeducated legalized thieves,fascist police,and bitter rivalries—someone told meit’s a good city,and I don’t knowwhat’s more frightening
And these are the sametype of people who killthe innocent andjustify it by saying“They’ve gone to bewith Jesus now”But we won’t talkabout how theycrucified Him, too
to live asubstance-freelife under thepressures ofthe daily grindis state-sponsoredsuicide
I hate forcing myself to go to bed to avoid committing suicide.
Some people are hard to forget, but some people are hard to remember.
I’m in love with my corporate girlfriend,with the Cyclops heart
When Pisces go to war, there’s never a shortage of broken hearts.
What simple andordinary lives we live,underneath the shadowsof projection screenartists
He was tiredof being calleda fag and teasedfor his sexualityby one of the guards,so he tried to hanghimself, twiceThe kid got a littlecloser the secondtime, but I won’t bearound to see athird
We should’ve thrown fucking riots the first time they had us ring up and bag our owngroceries
I can remember whendelusions of grandeur entailed wanting tobe a rock star, movie star,a millionaire; to make itas a writer—now it seems that it’sto want to earn adecent living
When I was achild my worldwasn’t blackand white,it was grey,until I gotbeat upenough timesto realizemy skin wasbeige, anddifferent
Some days I’mtrying to forcea smile sohard it feelslike I mightshit my pants
Because any guilt the sizeof a speck of dust, or shame,can crush even the best of men,in mountains of weight
We aim to bemen who’ll makeour mothers proud,but we end upmaking them cry,and are onlyslightly betterthan our fathers,at best
Too many codeine pills,Too many nights of cold chillsToo many weak-handed dealsToo many lives, the addict steals
It’s sadthat burnt marshmallowsmake me think ofmethamphetamine,when theyshould bringback childhoodmemories ofs’mores
Now I’msober and Irealize, Ididn’t drink toescape the world,I drank to escapemyself
I pawned the remote to my misery,trading it in for liquor that was cheap;screwdrivers for my vitamin c,and a little bloodstream to my IV,helping to soothe my lunacy
We had scar-tissueromance and ours wasa relationship of sayinggoodbye—every timewe fought, every timewe fucked, and every timewe called it quits, beforepicking up our knivesagain
America—where we hate our fathers, love our mothers, andeveryone is hung up on tryingto be a man