Nothing can ever be the same again. There is no going back, only going on. Each moment unto itself is of a fleeting existence, as is the next, the last and all to come.

If i were a bird i would paint the sky with my wings.

Undefined existence of abstractions of young hearts.

What is it about the human condition, that we have to bleed to feel alive ?

There goes trust. There goes dignity. There goes innocence. You can have your shirt too.

You are just a "thing" to her,
I promise baby,
you'd be everything to me.

My life is a play. . . in progress. I apologize to the audience and the cast, the genre is still undecided.

Then again. matters of the heart are never practical.

You are haunting me
with the memory
of your touch
and your kiss
and your face

I miss that look of DESIRE in your beautiful eyes.