All Our Best Men Are Laughed At

I'm Catholic And I Can't Commit Suicide, But I Plan To Drink Myself To Death.

What Is He Aching To Do? What Are We All Aching To Do? What Do We Want?” She Didn’t Know. She Yawned. She Was Sleepy. It Was Too Much. Nobody Could Tell. Nobody Would Ever Tell. It Was All Over. She Was Eighteen And Most Lovely, And Lost.

The Only Alternative To Sleeping Out, Hopping Freights, And Doing What I Wanted, I Saw In A Vision Would Be To Just Sit With A Hundred Other Patients In Front Of A Nice Television Set In A Madhouse, Where We Could Be "supervised."

Prison Is Where You Promise Yourself The Right To Live.

Don't Use The Phone. People Are Never Ready To Answer It. Use Poetry.