my beerdrunk soul is sadder than all the dead christmas trees of the world.
Those who preach god, need god Those who preach peace do not have peace Those who preach love do not have love
the sea is made of blood
I am aware that a computer can’t create a poem, but neither can a typewriter.
...in that drunken place you would like to hand your heart to her and say touch it but then give it back.
Some nights I knew that if I slept I would die.