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You can’t tame a girl who has her head. In the clouds and one foot out the door.

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I think you were my taste of heaven after a lifetime of eating hell.
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I will not force a pretty smile upon my face to please eyes that no longer see me.
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I am world of uncertainties disguised as a girl.
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I drink to the ones that can sit with their souls and not wish for sleep and the nightmares it brings.
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Every now and then I roam the catacombs in my head and attempt to resurrect you, and make you shiny again.
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I still pick at these memories of you; I pick them until they bleed.
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If I had known our last kiss was to be our last kiss, I would have kissed you as if it was our first.
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I drink to the ones who can sit with their souls and not wish for sleep and the nightmares it brings.
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I could lose myself in you or die blissfully, trying.
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Death Lose Myself Try
Poetry is the loveliest art. It has a wretched way of revealing our own character when we think we are judging the poets.
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One day I will fall gracefully to pieces. Until then, I’ll just fall.
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She is of the strangest beauty and the darkest courage, and when she walks with intent the earth trembles beneath her feet.
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You love so perfectly, as if you have never been told a heart can be broken.
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We were electric together, you and me; we turned hurting each other into a goddamned symphony.
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On paper I have killed you a thousand times but my heart disregards clever words.
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I have God in my words and the devil in my ear, and a sister who keeps telling me to find my magic.
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