the artist has no choice
the heart has no choice
the thought has no choice
the words have no choice
the pain has no choice
it must be said
at all cost

If a poem falls in the forest and nobody is there to read it, does it make a thought

Where do things unsaid go, are they part of the ether, if so, probably the largest part for sure

A true dogmatist would never accept the definition of their condition

before we met, i was in love with the dream that turned into you

This could be my last, your first, and our only...nobody really knows but you

After this went unread for a month,
i guess i forgot about never...

No worries never is my normal

The                                                       the
        beauty                                     in
                     of                    totally
                          a        ­     is
                              smile
                          ­    
                              "why"