“I know I write too many love poems, and perhaps this is me admitting that the love inside me is still there somewhere, stagnant – but its a cruel addiction. I need a intervention.”

I am still weighed down by unspeakable heaviness- It follows like shadow currents.

I thought time would heal my broken heart, but its been forever since I fell in love and I’m scared that you took pieces of me that can’t be replaced.

Be here with me tonight, and lets sing the saddest moon song there ever was.

He grabbed my hand as the flames licked at my feet and the devil and I danced.

A place where our stories are rewritten, and six degrees of separation no longer troubles us.

My mother always told me that love is like a plant, but she never prepared me for the realization that too much love towards the wrong person can drown your heart until it rots.

I laugh and I cry and I reason on until the late night, but I never feel the urge to call you. The person that I once knew is forever frozen in time.

Spill yourself onto the page with ink and a half healed heart and watch the words blossom.

I like to think of myself as the sun, but it gets really lonely all the way out here especially when everything I try to touch burns.

There was a time when I loved you too much that it made me feel the darkest shades of blue. It’s been years now, but I’m seeing life in other colors again.

A sea of jumbled emotions I had longed to live again, a feeling that no metaphor could match.

There were still embers scattered around me from the bridges I have burned. I wonder if they can feel it too. The space between us lingering like a scarlet letter, I’m learning how to love again.

There was a hesitation in your touch only time could see.

I learned to make art with my broken heart.

When the leaves begin to fall, I find myself returning to old playlists in hopes that I can feel you holding my hand, or kissing me goodnight, or hear you singing my name into songs and blueing when it makes no sense.

Even the places we used to visit in this empty town feel lyrical. My heart can’t help but sing along even now, but I’m tired.

The First Amendment was specifically designed for citizens to insult politicians. Libel laws were written to protect law students speaking out on political issues from getting called whores by Oxycontin addicts.

I mean, the sound of an amplified guitar in a room full of people was so hypnotic and addictive to me, that I could cross any kind of border to get on there.

I train about four or five times a week. I guess I am addicted to it. I also do a lot of martial arts. More than I have done in awhile. I like to go back to martial arts because it makes me feel good.

Get addicted to your happiness, not your pain.

I just need to do Pac’s work. I just need to. Maybe because I’m a recovering addict, I’m obsessed like that.

The Drug War is an addiction, really.

I’m kind of addicted to moving.

I just want to say I’ve been lucky enough to travel all over the world and every time I come back to Manchester I’m addicted to this place.