I Was In Love Again. I Was

Figuring The Average Poet Starts At 16, I Am 23.

Animals Never Worry About Heaven Or Hell. Neither Do I. Maybe That's Why We Get Along.

You Just Rebel Against Everything. How Are You Going To Survive? I Don't Know. I'm Already Tired.

We Are Like Roses That Have Never Bothered To Bloom When We Should Have Bloomed And It Is As If The Sun Has Become Disgusted With Waiting

How Can You Be True And Kind At The Same Time? How?