Shirts and jeans litter the asphalt, the empty fabric limbs askew as if they're attempting to escape. Blood smears Sarah's lips as she struggles against the chest of a dirty looking man with a beard. Terror. Terror is the only word my mind can seize on and it forgets what it means. I forget how to think - to move.

You can't figure out why I'm mad? How about because I had my tongue between your legs two days ago, or the fact we both almost overdosed on orgasms, or maybe it's because I got a fucking hard on the minute you walked in that conference room door? Take your pick... there are a variety of reasons why I'm mad.

People don't get to choose their family, but if you have the family you would choose - that's happiness.

Our ancestors derived less from life than we do, but they also expected much less and were less intent on controlling the future. We are of the arrogant generations who believe a lasting happiness was promised to us at birth. Promised? By whom?

If you kiss me and then leave again to go write anothertwangy song,_ she said, eyes closed, lips barely moving, __ swear to God, I will snap that guitar in half and feed it to you for breakfast.___ou use the prettiest words.

True evil is unlikely to receive an invitation from us, so it clothes itself in just enough truth to make itself look appealing and then it looks to unpeel us.