WHATEVER

MARK PLAYS HIS INSTRUMENT

& AS I FOLLOW ALONG...

HE SITS INDIAN STYLE ON MARK'S COUCH

AND WRITES ABOUT EMPTY FEELINGS

AND MEANINGFUL IMAGES...

LOST AND FOUND...

REMEMBERED...FORGOTTEN...

I'M TIRED...

HIS LAUGHTER HEALS ME

HIS SORROW INVITES ME

HIS BODY AND SOUL ARE ALL THAT EXCITE ME

WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?

HIS SIMPLE WORDS

(LIKE RAZOR BLADES) CUT DEEP INSIDE

AND LEAVE ME BLEEDING...

SELF DISCOVERED

BUT TORN AND RAGING...

CALM AND RIGHTEOUS

BUT SO UNCERTAIN...

ALL OR NOTHING

AND ALWAYS HURTING.