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

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

How honest is it that we drink until we are dehydrated?

But I still show up for gentleman practice in the company of lead dancers, hoping their grace will get stuck in my shoes.

I am standing like shoe polish on an overstocked shelf hoping that one day someone will pick me to make things better.

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

The best songs are the ones about Georgia, even though I've never been there. It's the only place I still believe in Jesus.