Being smart takes patience. Being wise takes pain. Being apathetic takes practice. Being in love takes everything…away.

She once told me of a night that fumed with escapes and was filled with bedsides reeking of ecstasy; she told me the stars cast not judgments, but blessings, knowing full well the disastrous outcomes of the deeds they cradled with the strings of their young hearts. She’d inhaled the night itself, those around her...

An empty bottle of Jack is almost just as beautiful as a new and unopened bottle…in the same sense as looking down at muddied feet, and looking back the way you came. The journey you’ve taken to get to this point, the experiences and sights and music listened to, the shit scrolled down on paper....

Lovecraft says he knows about tentaclesbut that motherfucker never bedded a girl from West Chesterand survivedShe was a toothachethat oneand she tasted like crackthe best thing about her was if I was ever hungryI could always make a meal out of whateverwas making rest at the corners of her mouthI can’t remember her nameas is...

Sad, slow music in the small hours of the morning isn’t just sad and slow music. It’s a narration. And through the myriad of morning dew, we are the twinkling stars that fade with the rising sun.

I never had a childhood. Not like the rest of them anyway. I had a starting point from which I have never stopped running.

The door is crackedWe used to meetlike water does landnonot thatmore like when skin touches skinkissing fingertipsor when air escapes a lung and is felt across the worldI’ve leapt over cracks in sidewalksand swallowed away troublesome back painsthat could only be fixed with someone else’s pillsWe met by your house one stray dayand you drove...

That’s the beautiful thing about innocence; even monsters have a pocketful of childhood memories with which to seek comfort with.

With riddles as black as coals, and answers as invisible as our past, I can only depend upon the crest of the rolling wave I now traversed; a romance worshiped only by the dreamer in us all, a psithurism of trust making its way through the years of our ascension to one day climb above...

Let me ask you this: How many days do you have left, if any, in the life you promised for yourself yesterday?

Distance, the dissonance insurmountable,would be not the end,but a magnet.When fingertips kiss,they imprint and cement something,that cannot be disintegrated. Time becomes a phantom,the wind becomes an anchor,and old dreams- blankets of warmth.Lull with me, Lady,there is no greater escape.Love and war, even when buttered on toast,still makes for the breakfast of champions.

So you mean to tell me you won’t fuck anyone you don’t share some kind of deep emotional connection with? What a sad, depressing, truly horrible life you must lead…

Reaction timeTouch the underside of a penny you find on the streetDoesn’t feel any different unless you close your eyesI can taste the copper in my mouth nowseeping from between my teethThere’s an explanation I’m sureall this bloodit’s from all the times I held the glass too closeAnd forgot to tip the dancerA storm just...

I see things in windows and I say to myself that I want them. I want them because I want to belong. I want to be liked by more people, I want to be held in higher regard than others. I want to feel valued, so I say to myself to watch certain shows. I...

Embrace all emotions: sadness, happiness, sorrow, hate, love, prejudice, fear; they are weapons against our greatest enemy: indifference.

Confidence don’t mean jack shit in the real world, sis,” she once said. I feel myself finding the courage to trust those words more and more with every twist of the knife. Coincidentally, last Tuesday afternoon I was involuntarily exposed to the punch line of an old wise tale that goes something like: “There’s beauty...

Only the dead have seen the end of war.” Perhaps the death of us all is called for in this time of emotional desperation. War is a product of the mind; only with the death of such will come the end of the bloodshed. Though this may be a fairly realistic view of such an...

In the hours waking,when we’re still all still,and you can hear the floorboards creaking,and you can feel the shades blow in,the night we slept with,we’ll never kiss like that again.Our lips, will sever, our memories, will dissipate,and our shadows will be swallowed by the sky.

I decided to masturbate with shampoo instead of conditioner today. Because yolo. Things Jesus never said.

Hemingway is overrated,Twain is even more lost at sea,And all truths point to the mouth of a woman,Where both her whispers and her screams,Are born.Pour another glass, Beer, wine, whiskey,I don’t care,So long as its wisdom is sharp,And it tells lies instead of promises.

Music is the love child birthed from the boundless freedom found in dreams and the rapturous opposition faced in life; for that, we should be so grateful for both the light and the dark.

When you can no longer differentiate between the insanity spewed onto the blank page, and the madness evident in the all-but shattered mirror…that’s when you know you’re doing it right.

There just isn’t enough cock in this world to be caught suckin’ and be called anything but a slut for life. The cynic in me would call it a bad habit, but that’d make me a whore in denial and if there’s one thing I am, it’s an honest bitch. Then again, you don’t get...

Life will hack off your head and shit down your neck every chance it gets. I’ve found that consuming drugs and booze, listening to music and always having an excuse in the best way to tip the scales.

…you’re either gonna spend your life fucking pussy, or taking it to church.

My head is in another dimension. My feet are talking to their soles. My nose is detecting a hint of sweaty, overpumped poon. There’s a spider corpse perpetually hanging on the wall next to my pillow that I don’t have any desire to correct. My breath smells like Kuwait. My arms are doing the Crazy...

Some people’s glasses are half full. I’m the one drinking them. Some people have forgotten that Pluto is still a planet. I still remember my childhood. Some people are vegans. I have common sense.Some people call me Maurice. Some people call me the Gangsta of Love. Some people just want to live…but me, I’m the...

I’ve always felt that distant train whistles heard in the dead of night are the universe’s way of letting us know the best days are neither ahead nor behind us…they’re happening right now, cradled in the palms of our hands. But that doesn’t change the fact that the whiskey, weed, and romance eventually runs out...

Plans never go as planned, ever; that’s just how life is. People spend way too much time dreaming about a future they should be having more nightmares warning them against. But that doesn’t mean you should let those bad dreams scare you away; all those nightmares want is respect. If you give them that, they’ll...

The day I became a writerit wasn’t the day a whore paid me in sexin exchange for one of my bookswhich happened often and more and moreas time went onit wasn’t the first time someone actually paid for one of my bookswhich happens less and less as time goes onIt was the day I realizedthat...

Being crazy, for the rest of us, is a form of sanity.