whiskey makes the heart beat faster but it sure doesn't help the mind and isn't it funny how you can ache just from the deadly drone of existence?

The writer has no responsibility other than to jack off in bed alone and write a good page.

Love is a fog that burns with the first daylight of reality.

People were interesting at first. Then later, slowly but surely, all the flaws and madness would manifest themselves. I would become less and less to them; they would mean less and less to me.

I don't think I have written a poem when I was completely sober. But I have written a few good ones or a few bad ones under the hammer of a black hangover when I didn't know whether another drink or a blade would be the best thing.

Love is a horse with a broken leg trying to stand while 45,000 people watch.

Love dries up, I thought as I walked back to the bathroom, even faster than sperm.