I cry often. I cry and cleanse my face with my tears and swim to the center of it all. A center that I have written about a thousand times, forever etched into the porcelain.

— A.P. Sweet

I kiss the soil as if it is the last time I will recognize the beauty she has given the trees.

— A.P. Sweet

I rise from the moist crevice of thought, I beat on the shores of her holy body, I fall from the sky in silver sheets of sadness. Rise onto me my precious sun.

— A.P. Sweet

I sense him smiling and laughing and looking at me with eyes of a thousand aborted children coming back to rightfully claim their life, to claim the earth.

— A.P. Sweet

I spread my fingers outward, letting the knife tip of my middle finger rip the sky as it tares a rift in the moon.

— A.P. Sweet

I want to towel off, leave my heart on this beach and walk the sand into a lake of stars, while never looking back.

— A.P. Sweet

I witness the birth of the moon and her servants walking the night sky pulling us into their wake

— A.P. Sweet

I would give my heart to the religious so that they may realize that god hates us all.

— A.P. Sweet

I would give my lungs to the fish so that they may rise out of the water and feel the wind.

— A.P. Sweet

I wrote because of their inability to nurture me. I wrote to conceal the truth that life was filled with pain and that true beauty could only come from that pain. Furthermore, I wrote to simply disguise that pain.

— A.P. Sweet