“Do you remember when I felt like home?”

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?

Skin is just the softest cage.

Dear hands, Don’t let them tell you art is a hopeless pursuit art my friends is pursuing light for the hopeless.

When I think of things that fade from reach I see birds and balloons, life and love, me and you.

Pain has one name but finds you through many.

My longing for intimacy does not abandon the love I’ve built for myself.

My longing for intimacy does not abandon the love I’ve built for myself.

When we die plant us close so life grows from our love still. Even in death my chest will bloom for you.

A vicious cycle of becoming the thing that hurt you the most- Life.

Sometimes I wonder if these rain soaked shoes will get me home.

I will bring lots of studies back with me so I can work on some big things at home.

It was the late ’70s when my parents met. My dad was a lighting director for a soap opera, and my mom was a temp at the studio. They moved into a house in The Valley in L.A., to a neighborhood that was leafy and affordable.

The dead drug leaves a ghost behind. At certain hours it haunts the house.

Being a housewife and a mother is the biggest job in the world, but if it doesn’t interest you, don’t do it – I would have made a terrible mother.

At work, you think of the children you have left at home. At home, you think of the work you’ve left unfinished. Such a struggle is unleashed within yourself. Your heart is rent.

To be without sympathy is to be alone in the world–without friends or country, home or kindred.

If you want to know if I’m a Godly man, follow me home.