“Do you remember when I felt like home?”

Don’t become the thing that hurt you.

I need you to need me like water and not just in moments of thirst.

Poems and pictures blood and light everything worth feeling twice is bound with such a price.

You know the marks of my skin better than anyone else. I’d be lying if I didn’t say you’ve made a few yourself.

The spilling of blood is payment for the joy that is to come.

Its been a while since a new face learned my favorite things.

I can take care of myself but still its nice knowing you love me enough to do the same.

If fire wasn’t bad enough the gods gave us love so if flames failed to burn us down we had each other still.

When you’ve been hurt so many times every reaching hand looks hungry not helpful.

I am tired of being the frontline to other peoples war if i must die today may it be for myself.

Your happiness doesn’t need permission from someone else.

She undresses like honey In a half emptied bottle, it is warm it is good it is god.

Down to earth but she stayed an angel.

Mouths open and very close catching sounds inside our throats.

Listening-it is a love I cherish well.

Is it love that really binds us? isn’t lust the first to find us? Was my heart so fucking worthless that you threw it all behind us?

Philosophy is properly home-sickness; the wish to be everywhere at home.

The point of being at home is to be with my family as much as possible.

Without a home must the soldier go, a changeful wanderer, and can warm himself at no home-lit hearth.

With every new sunset, the sun fears that the waves might stop paying homage to it at night.

Language is the only homeland.

I keep stacks of Autobiography of a Yogi around the house, and I give it out constantly to people. When people need ‘regrooving,’ I say read this, because it cuts to the heart of every religion.

If a builder builds a house and the house falls and kills some one in the house the owners may kill the builder.

All my houses are isolated. Many is the time I just stay home alone.