Pretend – inside your skin – you've got a friend, who's willing to give you everything you ever wanted in exchange for all you've ever been.

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

We were never tragedies. We were emergencies. You go ahead, call 9-1-1. Tell them I'm havin' a fantastic time.

I don't care to be good, Sheriff. I care to be whole.

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.

You are the home I point to that lives in my chest.

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