There is a point when tears don't work to wash things away anymore. Grabbing for breath has now broken my fingers.

I'm ready to kill something. I'll probably only get as far as my brain cells, but I am going to kill them.

Jordan tattoos the words "forgive me" in thick black letters down the inside of his arm so that when he looks at his wrist he will remember not to hate himself so much. What he keeps forgetting is that there is life after survival.

If I didn't have so much of this life all wrong I would have gotten it right by now.

If you've never been rocked back by the presence of purpose this poem is too soon for you. Return to your mediocrity, plug it into an amplifier and rethink yourself.

Even good hearts know how to turn bad touch and genocide into clichés just to make room for more comfort.

Everything is out there. That's why they call it everything.