I was beaten down long ago in some alley in another world.

I am a poem. There is no way out.

Dying should come easy: like a freight train you don't hear when your back is turned.

Maybe when I get in the grave, things will be beautiful.

If I stop writing I am dead. And that's the only way I'll stop: dead.

we only asked for leopards to guard our thinning dreams.

You don't go on "probably" when love and guns are in hand.