“This heart. It’s broke. I don’t want it anymore.”

Sometimes there are no words. Sometimes, it’s just poetry.

I wake to find her there, with glowing eyes and tangled hair. She is my sunrise.

Her memory still lingers, like a cockroach in my heart.

True love is letting her know that her ass really does look fat in those jeans.

If there’s never been a restraining order, it ain’t love.

It wasn’t forever. But I loved her until I hated her.

She was only a collection of flaws and she was beautiful.

There’s a strange beauty in her. She shines like hell.

He opened her cages, and freed the things inside.

I’m wrong but I’m real.

Break me. Until there’s nothing left and I’ll be free.

She’s no rose. But in her I see the beauty of thorns.

There’s this thing that hurts inside me all the time. Because I know what’s coming.

Lets die. Alone. Like we always do.

Failures often become art. And art can never fail.

Summer looks the same. But last summer she loved me.

It’s hard to breathe when she is not around.

The relationship you have with yourself affects all the others.

When they break you; collect your broken pieces & bloom elsewhere. For you’re a flower in the land of those who love you.

I hope you find someone, who pours love like rain during monsoon, onto all broken parts of you.

The world kept breaking you and here you are- still soft, still loving, how strong of you to maintain your magic in a world where everyone loses their essence.

If your heart is broken it doesn’t mean it can’t love again.

How is it that we mourn the shattered pieces of the love we willingly broke?

Does anything at all make any sense? No offense! Is everything real or just a lens of pretense? Anyway, I feel that this moment is dying and now I’m done wrying and trying.