“Some days, my mind still flickers, but the light doesn’t stay on. Kind of like the hope I felt when your fingers squeezed my palm. But they simply call that a reflex.”

You have always been enough. Allow yourself to finally feel it.

What an intimidating kind of beauty a rainbow holds. Then of course, there’s the jealously dripping between vampirish teeth of those who dare mock it.

If I’m wrong about you, let’s face it instead of fading like tire marks swallowed by rain. Run me into the midst of a storm. Leave me to drown there.

Needle in a haystack, a small town on a roadmap, searching for you through the abstract- how incredibly hard to find.

If y’all like spooky season just examine my brain. It’s plastered across this page on display.

You ever stare at something so long the colors blend together? Even the most neutral tones take on a life of their own, fold themselves into shapes that morph into creatures – wolves and goblin.

When words tripped off the side of your grin, I felt the statement slip toward my ear like the slide of a skateboard on griptape – how it led me to hate a sport I’ve never even tried.

I wait and wait and wait and god I am sick of waiting. To not see your face anymore. To not know the burden that belongs to you. To not imagine the window I looked through the night I found out.

Your promises shatter like glass. Sliced nerves for every lie that travels from your tongue.

I am hurting. I am angry. I am one hundred and thirty-two synonyms of regret, but atleast its proof that I was here.

I wish I could bottle up this scent for winter days when it feels like this town will never see sun again.

The hardest part is when the leaves abandon the trees. I seem to always lose a part of me.

Don’t bother finding a soulmate. Your aunt tells you, your fluffy scrambled eggs are the best she’s had and dammit, you can enjoy those all by yourself. No need to share the wealth.

Indigo child, you hid secret under graves, picked at the lamb stuck between teeth, felt around for monsters we once reaped. But the monster turned out to be free.

Surely I could never be certain of how many stars I’ve counted in the sky or of how such tiny particles can be build into wild-eyed stories like Aquarius and Cassiopeia. I could read you as I would the constellations and never tire.

Write me as if I were already a poem. Pen the stanzas as if storms and ships could birth something sacred. Color it a religious experience.

The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today is Christians, who acknowledge Jesus with their lips and walk out the door, and deny Him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable.

You should turn around at the end of the day and say I really like that piece of work, or that piece of work sucked. Not, was that popular or wasn’t it popular?

Men will surrender to the spirit of the age. They will say that if they had lived in our day, faith would be simple and easy. But in their day, they will say, things are complex; the Church must be brought up to date and made meaningful to the day’s problems.

Fiction was invented the day Jonas arrived home and told his wife that he was three days late because he had been swallowed by a whale.

You go through life wondering what is it all about but at the end of the day it’s all about family.

I know that I am mortal and the creature of a day; but when I search out the massed wheeling circles of the stars, my feet no longer touch the earth, but, side by side with Zeus himself, I take my fill of ambrosia, the food of the gods.

Never do today what you can put off till tomorrow. Delay may give clearer light as to what is best to be done.

There came a day when the clouds drifting along with the wind aroused a wanderlust in me, and I set off on a journey to roam along the seashores