Such Excess Of Passion Is Quite Out

I Have Given Up Considering Happiness As Relevant.

The World May Think It Idiotic, Nor Care At All We're Symbiotic, But I Will Say At Once And Twice: I Find It Nice. I Find It Nice.

There Was A Young Lady Named Mae Who Smoked Without Stopping All Day; As Pack Followed Pack, Her Lungs First Turned Black, And Eventually Rotted Away.

More Is Happening Out There Than We Are Aware Of. It Is Possibly Due To Some Unknown Direful Circumstance.

I Feel That I Am Doing The Minimum Amount Of Damage To Other Possibilities That May Take Place In A Reader's Head.