I swallowed a hand grenade that never stops exploding.

There's two kinds of women--those you write poems about and those you don't.

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

I want to whisper poetry into your mind and imprint love letters to your soul and dance with you in an empty white room of potential

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

I swallowed a hand grenade that never stops exploding.

I want to rip off your logic and make passionate sense to you. I want to ride in the swing of your hips. My fingers will dig in you like quotation marks, blazing your limbs into parts of speech.