Once I thought I found love, but then I realized I was just out of cigarettes.

I swallowed a hand grenade that never stops exploding.

No rescue boat can save the touches I left bobbing in the wild ocean of your flesh, but if they cut open your heart, like the belly of a shark, dumped its contents on a table—would there be any trace of me?

Once I thought I found love, but then I realized I was just out of cigarettes.

When I haven't been kissed in a long time, I create civil disturbances, then insult the cops who show up, till one of them grabs me by the collar and hurls me up against the squad car, so I can remember, at least for a moment, what it's like to be touched.

I know it’s stupid to not own a gun yet have so many triggers, but in some other world gigantic seashells hold humans to their ears and listen to the echo of machines.

I want to rip off your logic and make passionate sense to you.