These Days Grief Seems Like Walking On

I Contemplate The Idea That Maybe I'm An Alcoholic. I Get This Occassionally, The Need To Define Myself As Something-or-the-other, And At Various Times In My Life Have Wondered If I'm A Goth, A Homosexul, A Jew, A Catholic Or A Manic Depressive, Whether I Am Adopted, Or Have A Hole In My Heart, Or Possess The Ability To Move Objects With The Power Of My Mind, And Have Always, Most Regretfully, Come To The Conclusion That I'm None Of The Above. The Fact Is I'm Actually Not Anything.

Be Nice Wont You?" "i Am Nice, I'm Always Nice." "but Not Too Nice. I Mean Don't Make A Religion Out Of It, Niceness.

She Made You Decent, And In Return You Made Her So Happy

These Days Grief Seems Like Walking On A Frozen River; Most Of The Time He Feels Safe Enough, But There Is Always That Danger That He Will Plunge Through.

Envy Was Just The Tax You Paid On Success.