All hands bury the dead.

All of my poems come from pain

If you were to break I too would be lost

We bury our history and move on

I treasure the past the way others treasure the promise of the future.

Although I might betray others a thousand times

I am not willing to lose the friends of my youth

I believe A person can be buried by the past if his memory is too strong

The more I learn, the more I out grew this civilized manor

The more understanding gained, The more I became a barbarian.

We all have to grow, and sometimes that growth means growing apart...

What inspires me to produces my work?
It's from being hurt, sad, lonely, and confused
That's why I write...I suspect suicide is for those who can't