“And when the cold comes, I swear I can feel her in my bones.”

Today I can see the cracks on the wall they’re visible; but I can tell they are finding their way to soil, And so am I.

Maybe water is not entirely lost when soaked into sand. Maybe it finds a better resting place to call home; and I hope she did too.

All through the depression, I was the soft toy in the hands of a baby with sharp teeth.

After healing I’ll run back to her – of course this poem demands a brutal ending!

It is my dying wish to travel around the world; to feel this hurt in a slightly different way!

Sometimes even in pain we smile to the world until we think we’re dying.

The broken worlds we hide inside; that’s how we start to die!

Most days missing her is my only choice between death and dying.

Often times the language is different; by which I mean, I love her, and it’s the only stammer I’ve ever known.

I’ve seen it, I know it too; love still dances in the fire after the rescue.

I forget how our story started; but these days I’m finding the missing pieces behind every exhale, where I left the words standing with sore feet.

I can feel the dust of her skin in my skin; and I think maybe that means these bones of mine have grown weary of crying too.

This ‘missing you’ It begs for water; it cries your name.

Please the night’s cold, not her name again!

In the end not every bleeding thing dies; at least, not like a paper plays in fire.

I don’t think the world is ever getting better; I guess maybe people just find new ways to hide what kills them.

I like Jackie Chan because I’ve been a fan of Jackie’s forever. He’s broken every bone in his body for his commitment and dedication to doing his own stunts. So he’s the real deal.

It is defeat that turns bone to flint; it is defeat that turns gristle to muscle; it is defeat that makes men invincible. Do not then be afraid of defeat. You are never so near to victory as when defeated in a good cause.

I am a spark from the Infinite. I am not flesh and bones. I am light.

I met you the way a fast car meets a tree. The slightest slip sent me careening into you. Half-conscious I remained at the scene, bones broken, blood spilled, fire burning.

Bitter sweet rose her thorns pierce every bone, but her lustful petals fall like bandaids for bleeding sores.

I have to make my bones with Hollywood to get in. And when I do maybe I’ll metamorphose from Mr. Muscles or whatever it is I am now and become an irascible tosser.

The safest and most suitable form of penance seems to be that which causes pain in the flesh but does not penetrate to the bones, that is, which causes suffering but not sickness.

Dancers have more bones than most people and on the days when you work hard you are sure that you have somehow accumulated more bones than you started with.