Just then my knees give under me, my head feels weak and suddenly it's clear to see it's not them, but me, who's lost my self identity.

So I've been hanging out down by the train's depot. No, I don't ride. I just sit and watch the people there. And they remind me of wind up cars in motion. The …

As I hide behind these books I read, while scribbling my poetry, like art could save a wretch like me.

Will my number come up eventually? Like Love's some kind of lottery, where you scratch and see what's underneath. It's 'Sorry', just one cherry, or 'Play Again…

The difference between Dali and the crazy man is that Dali, is not crazy!

Sanity is a little box.

Now I can deal with all the blood on my shoes, The holes in my sole, My spirit is tainted and, Oh, all my tears are painted