In My Palm I Can

Peel Off These Dusty Wool Blankets Of Apathy And Antipathy And Cynical Desiccation. I Want Life In All Its Stupid Sticky Rawness.

A Month Ago There Was Nothing On Earth I Missed, Enjoyed, Or Longed For. I Knew I Could Lose Everything And Not Feel Anything, And I Rested Easy In That Knowledge. But I'm Growing Tired Of Easy Things.

Deep Under Our Feet The Earth Holds Its Molten Breath, While The Bones Of Countless Generations Watch Us And Wait.

Regret Is Pointless. I Never Do Anything Without First Deciding To Do It Based On Facts And Feelings, And If It Doesn't Work Out How I Hoped, Oh Well, There's Another Notch On My Experience Belt.

I Sigh Inside, So Exhausted By These Ugly Questions, But When Did A Monster Ever Deserve Its Privacy?