Poem written to a picture of a breakfast table with a plate of ‘fried bacon and eggs, tomatoes, with crisp half burnt toast, and a glass of pure red grape juice…

It does not take long to decipher something.

You cannot choose your family.

About the book “on the sidewalk bleeding”.

The healing effact of writing.

Not today’s kids. It was a recess game and it required a special tool.

The title seems awfully blunt, but this is a poem of love and recovery for the broken-spirited. If anyone you know, or you yourself, are seeking help to quit self-injury, this poem may have personal meaning to you. To anyone not directly involved in such a situation, this poem will provide insight into a barely known, but serious, topic. Hopefully it will also provide inspiration.

Love, fun, lust, or bust.

This is a true story of a thief? or not a thief? Judge for yourself after reading the story.

I am Twilight Knight.