I write as I promise and as I roar
the proclivities of our lives-
little circulations in our bodies
making us animals, making us men.
One girl falls short of her truths,
But no one knows her inners
There is no courage burying
the dead, just the insanity of lives.
The beautiful masks we adore
ourselves into, can’t save us, nor
the pills of any worldly love.
Everybody lies and the lie is the sole truth.