“When I was a child, I used to fear monsters under the bed. I have since learned that most monsters are found within. And they are always worth fighting.”

I erected cities with adoration on my tongue and you burnt mine down in the wake of your love.

You could not keep me fed by throwing me bones and empty promises. I am ashamed to admit how much starving I did before I finally left.

Can hope bloom in the shade? Can time give back what it takes away? I once saw the answers to life in your eyes; now I can remember the words to goodbye.

In the absence of you I look to the moon and pray that the stars light my way, too.

If we are what we love, Then I am whatever you are made of.

I fall headlong into everything that lights me on fire. I know not of restraint. I was born to burn.

Anxiety is living with an apple on your head and you imagine that everyone you know stands watching with a bow to shoot an arrow at it.

The stars are where we came from. They orchestrated our return to the place we can always come home: our ancient, timeless love.

You are what it feels like to watch the final silvers of sun fall and die into the silver ocean; tangerine sky giving way to moon-glow and starlight.

We weren’t written in the stars; all that glitters wasn’t ours.

Last night, I sent you home with a kiss and a promise. I hope you still believe in roses.

Our story bleeds from my eyes until I cannot tell the stars from streetlights.

Standing in your power scares a lot of people. You become something formidable, intimating, and aspirational all at once.

Poetry? That’s easy. I just cut the vein, and let it bleed.

Do I look as good as I remember, Looking back at you from over my shoulder, smug as the devil?

The day I made peace with my pain was the day I was born again.

You can find shame in every house, burning in an ashtray, hanging framed upon a wall, covering a bed. But nobody notices it any more.

Teach me to live, that I may dread The grave as little as my bed. Teach me to die.

And so she remained a mystery, something to dream about on rainy days staring at the dark holly clouds passing by. – in a bed of flowers.

And here I am, dying in my bed, like cattle die. May the eyes of cowards never sleep.

Don’t take tomorrow to bed with you.

Seeking support from friends and and family is like having people gathered around at your deathbed. It’s nice, but when the ship sails, all they can do is stand on the dock waving goodbye.

Talk to each other. Never go to bed when you’re angry with each other. Lady Antonia Frasier who was married to Harold Pinter said they never went to bed on an argument.

Soon the sun beams will smile through. Before you jump out of that bed, just know, the thought of you was the first thing that hit my head.