There are approximately 1,013,913 words in the English language but I could never string any of them together to explain how much I want to hit you with a chair.

My favourite colour is the crimson on your cheek when we kissed; in the snow, on your bed, in the middle of traffic, or wherever the hell your lips found me instead.

Sometimes I imagine my own autopsy. Disappointment in myself: right kidney. Disappointment of others in me: left kidney. Personal failures: kishkes.
When the clock turns back and the dark falls before I'm ready, this, for reasons I can't explain, I feel in my wrists. And when I wake up and my fingers are stiff, almost certainly I was dreaming of my childhood.
Yesterday I saw a man kicking a dog and I felt it behind my eyes. I don't know what to call this, a place before tears. The pain of forgetting: spine. The pain of remembering: spine.
Loneliness: there is no organ that can take it all.

The only difference between you and God is that you have forgotten that you are divine.