And why shouldn’t life be about:
Fighting
Fucking
Writing
And music?
Making great love
To a great woman. . .
Getting into a fight
With a great man . . .
Making great art
With nothing but what you know
Which isn’t very much
And an idea of what you could become
If you worked really really fucking hard
To become it.
Mix it all together . . .
Through in some great music
To show him the way
And what will become
Of the man who lives his life this way?
Guess we’ll find out.
Isn't it strange that everyone you've ever known has a different idea of who you are then you do? . . . Some of them might think you’re a reserved person. Some of them might think you talk too much. S
What will you be after your beauty fades away? What will be your energy? Will you still be kind? Will you have developed your mind? Or did you spend all of your time stuck in the grind? What will you
I’m not too familiar with the sonnet And I usually say, “Bless you,” when I hear the word haiku I didn’t go to college And I am not a well full of knowledge I bite my fingernails And they somehow end
