Habby Birthday

I Guess That’s My Queue…

Jazz Musician In The Making…

Social Stigmas…

Rumors…

Late At Night They Molest My Soul…

But I Can’t Succumb To The Evil…

So I Exercise The Impurities…

And Pray The Isaac Newton In Me Can Snuff It Out…

Infected…

By My Brief Tourist Visit To Hell…

Thrown In My Face…

I Sit Back And Wonder If It Was Paid For By My Enemy…

Desperately Reaching That Hand Out For Friendship…

I Remember When That Hand Was Mine…

Since Those Flowers Touched That Smooth Finish…

I’ve Seemingly Counted All My Tears One By One…

Just A Lonely Introvert Playing One On One…

I Get Along Better When I Figure No One Cares…