…the anger has cooled, the hatred is gone, leaving in its wake a small pool of pity.
It’s all gone to hell.
There’s always a catch. Sometimes, it’s the fall.
I bet you thought it would be different, being human.
…sharp teeth of an angel.
Poetry is only a moment.
Love with a whole heart, or not at all — not even a little.
thank the gods for apathy
I write what I feel, and I let it go.
We point at the path of sticky entrails and we blame you.