Blistering scales descendingto madness and beyond.Long nights withouta melody, or aplace to hang myhat.Life hurts when thefamiliar things vanish,and love crawls away likea perfect little spider.

On this March night, there'sa beautiful Van Gogh skyhovering outside mybedroom window.Above my maple deskwhere I write this isa Van Gogh self-portrait.The jagged edges andswirls in sea-greenpain moves me.I wait for the coffee to brew.Earthy, dark notes fill the...

The dust and clutter havegathered in my home, andin my life.Next month it's April.Time to spring clean.Let's see...Throw out all thedangerous philosophiesthat whispers to mewhile I sleep.Get rid of the people wholaugh while they lie.All the soulkillers andsuckerfish; the...

He workedHe workedHe workedand worked He drankHe drankHe drankand drank His job wasn't to far from his homeHe would walk home the same route every dayIt wasn't the greatest neighborhoodHobo's were always near the liquor store he would stop by each...

She was the woman with no nameShe came in when they were leaving their offices to go home for the daySome of the staff tried to be polite and say hello in passingShe never said a word backShe would...