This throat's been dry for years.
These lungs still scream for air.
And slamming door and breaking glass
can't cover up the tears.
These words mean nothing.
But nothing changes,
and in five more years,
we still won't be heard.
I'm still screaming
Writer's Block
Resolution
Picking Up The Pieces
Fractures
By Now
We Were
We'll Always Have Paris
Writer's Block
Where The Heart Is
Ante Up
Ante Up
Where The Heart Is
Post Script
(Re) Acquaintance
Pardon the Interruption
Thirty Four Seconds
Rough Draft (An Explanation)
Four Years Too Late
Part II (Motel Art)
The Scape