“Late nights. Poetry. Cigarettes. and a wounded heart, trying to forget you.”

I messed up a lot of things. I called it poetry.

Overcoming guilt, its the first step to doing it again.

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.

Like the leaves and trees beyond repair we let go, But don’t forget love.

Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly. Never forget that the devil fell by force of gravity. He who has the faith has the fun.

You’re a fighter. You just forgot.

I might have a fancy roof over my head and soap to wash away the dirt, but I’m still the same girl beneath. It’s important neither of us forget it.

Mark my words. Memories of me will haunt you when you sleep at night. No one forgets a love like mine.

I feel like when you’re a celebrity, people dehumanize you and they forget you’re a real person.

Forget about what the technology is. Just understand the motivation behind it.

I’m about to make people forget about Madonna.