Exactly like the title says. A no-holds, charged writing about what it really means to have a passion like this.

We all have an expiration date, and this becomes excessively clear when we lose someone we love.

A brief free form poem about how I feel every time I watch or read the news.

Once you’re trapped in the room of the negative spiral you’re stuck for eternity. It just gets worse from there on. PS: The title is Welcome Home backwards.

I’ve fallen without my strings, broken my mold and now formless.

That time of a 24-hour period we call a day.

Psychedelic visions of the artist.