beware women grownoldwho were neveranything butyoung

she wasn't veryinterestingbut few peopleare.

be it peace or happinesslet it enfold you

all theorieslike clichesshot to hell,all these small faceslooking upbeautiful and believing;I wish to weepbut sorrow isstupid.I wish to believe but believe is agraveyard. we have narrowed it down tothe butcherknife and themockingbird wish usluck.

when you're younga pair offemalehigh-heeled shoesjust sittingalonein the closetcan fire yourbones;when you're oldit's justa pair of shoeswithoutanybodyin themandjust aswell.

sometimes all we need to be able to continue aloneare the deadrattling the wallsthat close us in.

the world is better withoutthem.only the plants and the animals aretrue comrades.I drink to them and withthem.

I feel no grief for being called somethingwhichI am not;in fact, it's enthralling, somehow, like a goodback rub

I didn't know who tobelievebutone thing I doknow: when a man islivingmany claim relationshipsthat are hardlysoand after he dies, well,then it's everybody'sparty.